Let's be alone together
by IThinkIJustGleedMyself
Summary: A/U - Growing up amidst a war is certainly not easy, but Finn Hudson has one big secret that nobody can ever know.


**Hi, so I've been holed away writing this one shot for a few weeks now. I've done a lot of research, trying to make it as accurate as possible, but please forgive me for any mistakes. I am by new means an expert on this era :)**

**This is self beta'd and thank you to Kristie for all her ideas!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**Przemyśl********, Poland**_

_******December, 1943**_

* * *

His feet scuff the ground as he slowly makes his way home, the haze of the evening the backdrop to his walk. Beside him, the looming presence of grime ridden walls, finished with razor sharp barbed wire to keep all its inhabitants inside. But that seems rather unnecessary now. As his eyes finally do rise to the scene before him, he sees nothing but empty windows and houses.

For a few moments, the silence coming from the uninhabited ghetto overwhelms him, the hairs at the back of his neck standing to attention. Finn knows not to look to the cobbled street, because he'll see the bricks stained dirty red with blood. Still, that doesn't stop his walk from halting even further to the pace of a snail, transfixed by the scene before him. Overtired buildings peak from over the impossibly high walls, where his eyes glance over the chiselled plaque – '_Jewish quarters_'. As he stares, another unsettling feeling overcomes him, and he only realizes why when his shadow is blocked by another. "What are you doing, boy?" A voice demands behind him, causing the fifteen year old to jump, turning to face the ___SS officer_ with an expression of worry, his eyebrows clenched tightly together and chewing his lip in guilt.

"I was just heading home, Sir," he hesitates, clutching the loaf of bread in his hand tighter to his side. The blond, with shrivelled black eyes, scrutinizes every inch of the young man, as Finn shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He dare not stare back at the soldier; the pounding of his heart tells him that's not a wise idea.

Because of this, he doesn't see the way the armed officer glances back toward the ghetto he'd previously been staring at, his scowl growing in persistence. "Hurry up," he barks out the order, "and don't let me find you here again."

"Yes Sir," he nods quickly, eyes widening with gratitude at being left to leave so freely. The SS have not been kind to this town, bringing in their wake constant fear and terror, only made worse by the smirks they wear as they carry out their acts of treachery. "Thank you, Sir." The words buzz from his thin lips, and he manages a weak, "hail!" before breaking into a hurried dash home.

He's never felt more welcomed by the dreary sight of his home, the street lay abandoned and seemingly untouched by life today. Finn ignores that and practically dives into one of the larger houses. His senses go into overdrive as he smells his mother's cooking, a tantalizing mixture of aromas that have his mouth watering. "I'm home," he calls through to the kitchen, finding her stood over the stove, a tired smile on her face. As he moves closer, his eyes home in on the worry lines that seem to be more every day, his heart dropping a little at the sight.

"Finn," she smiles, relieved – the same relieved she always is when he comes home for the night. Carole notices his full hands. "What's this?"

"Oh, I just bought some bread," he places it on the work surface, still wrapped in dull brown paper.

He doesn't miss the disapproving glance from his mother, "you shouldn't have bought that." The way he suddenly shrinks under said expression makes him glad that he didn't mention the chocolates he'd also bought. "I went to the store yesterday, someone is going to notice - "

"Mom, they're starving," he pleads.

She continues as though he hadn't spoke, voice barely above a hush, "someone will notice that we're buying more than we need, Finn."

He can't argue with that, but he can't find it in himself to regret his actions. "I'll be more careful then," he insists to her, like he always does, then grabs the loaf once more and begins to head up the staircase, his boots causing loud thuds against the wood. He then steps inside the small cupboard tucked away in the alcove of the hall, pushing back the hung up winter coats to reveal the small door. With three confident wraps to the splintered wood, he waits for the sound of the movement. As always, there's the cautious shuffle, before he hears the door unlock and open. Cold air instantly hits him, Finn bringing up his arms to his chest in an attempt to conserve some heat.

"Finn!" Hiram greets, realizing his mistake as he instantly lowers his voice. He allows the boy to step further into the room, locking the door behind him, "to what do we owe the pleasure?" He stares toward the man, his bony features, his rough, scarred skin, and he wonders how he can still be so kind, especially to a German like him.

He forces out a weary smile. "I thought you'd appreciate this," he holds up the bread, "it's freshly baked today." As he listens to the never-ending thanks of the adult, his eyes scan the small room for someone in particular. So lost in his quest, he doesn't notice the tiny smile that graces Hiram's lips.

"Rachel, Noah," he beckons them, not moments later one of the doors opening to reveal the pair. Noah, freshly turned eighteen, gives Finn a nod in acknowledgement before making a beeline for the bread, ripping off a piece of the crust and stuffing it into his mouth.

"Honestly, Noah, have you lost all manners?" The sweet voice that he's been waiting for fills the room, and he feels the way his whole face seems to smile in her direction. She stands in the doorway, shyly tucking some of her long, dark hair behind her ear when she notices him staring. The sight of his eyes raking over her body must make her feel self conscious, because she goes to bite her plump lower lip as she does when she's mostly nervous. Finn hates the way she looks skinnier – she ___always_ looks skinnier. But now the pale blue dress that she wears hangs off her, the tell-tale star of David sewn over the right breast. "Hello Finn."

The way she gives him this gentle smile, sunken eyes shining, has his heart palpitating. He rubs his clammy hands together and steps forward, well aware of the audience behind them. "Hi Rachel."

Her eyes move past him to the bread that Noah is heartily taking to, "you didn't have to bring up more, Finn." A soft sigh follows, "you're too kind." She moves too, the pair meeting in the middle of the room, where she tilts her head to stare up at him with her huge, brown eyes that instantly bring a smile to his face.

Finn's hand dives into his jacket pocket, pulling out the chocolate bars he's also purchased, "I got these, too. It's the ones that you liked last time." He holds them out.

She sucks in a breath, now unsure. "I don't -"

"Come on, I know how hungry you are." The smile that he plasters on is painfully fake, because she ___is_ hungry; she's fading away in this damn attic, trapped between four walls with no foreseeable escape. He doesn't know how any of them can stand it.

He notices her expression falter, mouth twitching with a desire to say something else, but her words miserably failing her. She lifts a slender hand, her actions still hesitant even as her fingers wrap around the chocolates. Then it returns, that spark to her eyes, the color to her cheeks in the form of a soft pink hue. "Thank you," she says ever so softly, more meaning to her words than he considers. Finn gives a curt nod, turning when he remembers that they're not the only occupants of the room.

Noah and Hiram look to him expectantly, and his heart sinks a little. "There isn't much good news," he gets out, hating the way the hope falls from their expressions. At first, they'd had a small radio up here to keep them up to date with the war – also to keep boredom from setting in. But it'd broken just a few days ago. Finn really resents having to replace the stupid machine in giving the recent updates.

"Oh," Hiram says, then nods politely, "that's okay."

He shakes his head, wishing that he could say more. He never can though. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, hating his ability to do that and only that.

"Don't be, son," he answer, "you do more than enough."

Finn remains with sagging shoulders and a heavy conscience, "I should go. Dinner will be ready soon and I shouldn't be up here for long anyway." The disappointment grows in the air around him, but all three nod and let the only company they've had for two days slowly descend to the door. He turns before he exits, eyes catching Rachel's. The sadness in her eyes is a window to the sadness drowning whatever hope she has left inside.

"Will you be back soon?" she asks, desperately – it makes his face flush and heart flutter.

And he shouldn't, not really. The chances of getting caught are too high.

But her eyes, her pleading eyes, make it so difficult to say no. So he doesn't. "'Course," he promises her, his smile real this time. Rachel's face brightens, that being the last thing he sees before he leaves and hears the door being locked behind him.

* * *

"How are they?" his mom asks as he joins her at the table with his food. Each mouthful fills his stomach with guilt, making him feel bloated with it. He drops his fork to stare up at her, seeing his worry mirrored in the woman.

"It's cold up there, mom. Maybe we should take up some more blankets."

She looks to him seriously, "we can't keep going up, honey." He opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to the chase, "I know you want to help, but if someone finds out they're here, Finn..." Her voice wavers with fear, in the way that makes Finn's gut clench and a grimace to appear on his face.

"They won't," he assures her, though his words are empty. They're both aware of the penalty if their secret is discovered, that thought hanging over him constantly; every time they hear soldiers march past, there's the hitching of breath, the moment's pause before they can continue what they were doing. He swallows thickly at the the very idea of being caught, because he knows what it would entail for him and his mom. They'd be killed on the spot, mercilessly and quickly, but Rachel and the others, they'd be sent away. To where they took the other Jews, to those labor camps and factories. "And then when all this is over, they'll be okay."

Carole gives a grave attempt of a smile, and nods. They fall into silence after that.

* * *

"It snowed yesterday," Rachel says quietly to him one day as he helps her hang their wet clothes on the small lines scattered from wall to wall.

He gives a wry smile, head tilting her way. "Yeah, I know. I had to go out in it." He helps her clip one of Noah's jackets to the nearest line, chuckling at the way she's standing precariously on her tip toes in order to reach it. When his own bemusement wears off, he notes the sadness that lingers on her features, "what's wrong?"

"When it snowed," she starts, voice hesitant, as are her eyes. He slows in his movements and turns his full attention to the girl, "all I wanted to do was run outside like when I was younger. I wanted to see the snowflakes around me, to feel them on my skin." A dreamy expression pushes its way through, only to drop in a matter of seconds, "but I couldn't." The words fall flatly from her lips, slender shoulders slumping.

"Oh," Finn breathes. His search for a response comes up empty handed; he frowns. "Right."

Following her line of sight, he finds her staring to the small window hidden behind cobwebs. It's too high for even him to glance down at the street from, not that he'd want to – the need to keep anyone's presence up here in the attic is all too strong, and he's not about to sabotage that. Outside, the setting sun casts an orange glow across the sky, one that pushes its way through said window.

Rachel gives a sad smile, dragging her gaze away and picking at the frayed thread near the hem of her dress. She sinks to the bed behind her. It doesn't take Finn more than a few seconds to join her, his broad shoulders bumping against hers.

It's strange, her being silent. She's usually been the one to fill in the gaps with words, so many words – some that he has no idea what they actually mean – that he sometimes just nods along and smiles. Not that she notices; she always seems to get lost in her own mind, her ramblings going off on tangents that he can't quite follow. But not today. As they sit there, he can't help but experience the pain showed in her features, how it rolls off her likes waves.

"I don't know how you do it," he confesses, his voice light of most emotion.

She blinks, and then sighs, "I don't have any other choice."

"Yeah," Finn rubs the back of his head, unsure of what to say next, "but doesn't it drive you crazy?"

"_All the time_. But it's better than what happened to the others." She promptly lowers her head at that, in silent prayer for her friends and family who haven't been afforded the luck that she has. Finn feels his heart clench, the desire to help her stronger than ever. But what can he do? The war raging on outside isn't anything that he can stop, no matter how much he wishes this were all just one big nightmare. Rachel is the same age as him, and where she should be growing up and experiencing life to the fullest, she's been stuck up here for months. It makes him sick to ___this_ that this is the best option for her family.

Her voice pulls him from his thoughts, "I know it hasn't been that long, but I feel like I've been up hear for ___years_." She says emphatically, "it's just been one hundred and forty three days, though. I have to keep reminding myself that."

Finn's brows rise in surprise, "you've been counting?"

Hands wringing together, she nods. "Noah told me to stop, that it's just making me feel worse, but I can't help it – I___need_ to know."

"I'd want to know, as well," he says, shrugging off the idea in hopes of making her feel the slightest bit better. For a second, he sees her mouth twitch with the hint of a smile.

"You really are very kind, Finn. I wish that when we'd met it'd been under better circumstances."

His heart plummets, because he hates being reminded of their situation, of being reminded that they're not just friends. There are people out there who hate Rachel, who hate all Jews, and they'd kill her if given the chance. "Me too." He recalls that fateful night when his mom had brought them here, being so secretive and rushed that it'd scared the boy half to death.

* * *

_"____What's wrong?" he shouts from the lounge when he hears the front door slam and his mother frantically call out his name, beckoning him to where she is, __now____. Immediately, he's on his feet, body numb with fear. There's been too many stories of people being hurt, and he's always scared that one of them will be caught in the crossfire. Upon seeing his mom, however, he breathes a sigh of relief when he notices how she appears physically fine. Still, her eyed are wide, dilated. And her chest heaves under her labored breaths, quickly distracting Finn so that he doesn't notice the figures behind her. "Are you okay?"_

___He steps forward then, forehead crinkling with confusion as she takes a moment to catch her breath. It's at that moment that he does realize they're not alone, tugging at his mom's arm to pull her behind him. His first instinct is that they're soldiers, but if they were then they would have already made their presence known, in the usual authoritative way._

___But no, these people are almost cowering into the safety of the walls, and as he looks closer, he sees the yellow stars printed to their chests, the word 'jude' staring back at him. For a few seconds, he forgets how to breathe._

_"____Mom, what is happening?" They're not supposed to be here; all the Jews in this area are living in the Jewish quarters, which are constantly guarded by the SS soldiers. How on Earth did they escape?_

___Too many questions circle his mind, leaving the fifteen year old dizzy with worry and concern, only for it to escalate as his mother ignores him in favor of hurrying the three strangers up the stairs. He stands there, completely baffled, as the three cautiously make their way past him, holding suitcases protectively against their bodies. His heartbeat is a dull thud in his chest as he follows up the stairs, casting a nervous glance backwards._

___He ignores the silent figures,barging past them to demand answers. His expression must convey that, because his mom reaches out a hand to gently clasp around his arm, "I'll explain everything soon, Finn. Just please, give me time to get them settled."_

_"____Settled where?" he shakes his head with bewilderment, "they're can't stay here, they're Jewish." (He doesn't notice how all three flinch at the harsh tone to his voice, but he hadn't meant it that way.) Carole gives him a look, one of finality, that leaves little to argue with._

_"____Come on," she gently ushers them towards the attic, and Finn is on their tail the entire time, remembering to close the door firmly behind him. All three seem to relax at finally being safe; they lower their suitcases and all begin to soak up the large room with expressions a contradiction of hope and dread for what's to come. "There's a bed through here," Carole starts helpfully, "it's quite small, but it'll do. And then there's a spare mattress that I lay down next to it." _

___They all nod, unable to find words. Finn watches them, taking note of their worn faces, the hollow eyes that hide the horrors that they've seen, even worse than him and his mother. Bones poke from beneath their pale skin, the boy – who looks a couple year his senior – has scars just below his eyebrow, then another beside his left ear. He shudders thinking how he received the pink, nasty marks. _

___Finn's eyes drift over the older man, only holding him in their gaze for a few seconds before his attention is dragged away by the tiny girl. She stays huddled close to her father, her thick, chestnut hair hidden beneath an old cap. Her frail body is drowned in an equally aged coat, but for a moment she raises her eyes, the deep pools of luxurious chocolate causing his breath to hitch. In the back of his mind, he recalls what his teachers say about Jews time and time again, comparing the race to rodents, a 'virus' that needs to be eradicated. Those words are some that he's never been able to understand, now even more so than ever. How could they compare this girl to a rat, with her beauty that could outshine that of most German girls?_

___She turns her head away from his staring, clearly uncomfortable at being under his intense gaze. Almost apologetic, he clears his throat, then offers the biggest smile he can muster. Admittedly, it's a little meager, but those beautiful eyes manage to catch sight of it, sparkling even in the dreary attic. Her dry lips curve into the slightest of smiles in response, cheeks turning a gorgeous pink._

___He's so enamoured that he doesn't hear the others continue to talk, his mother giving a tour of the small attic. "Rachel," the older man says softly, reaching out to place a hand on his daughter's shoulder. _

___She blinks, reluctantly pulling her gaze away from Finn, "yes Papa?"_

_"__Let's put your things in your and Noah's room." She nods, silently. Then follows. Not before a look is cast over her shoulder, as if needing to see him one more time. His smile lingers, even as she disappears behind the creaky door. _

___Finally, he turns to his mother for answers, and at that moment he knows that whatever she's going to tell him is going to change his life indefinitely._

* * *

She falls asleep not longer after their talk, someone having ended up leaning against his broad chest. As he stares down at her, nestled in the crook of his arms, he feels an overwhelming sense of happiness, smiling in bliss at the feeling of her so close to him.

If someone could see him now, so close to a _Jew_, he'd be dead quicker than he could react. And that thought should terrify him, but with Rachel sweetly lay against him, Finn only focuses on her and how right it feels to be with her like this. He can feel her steady heartbeat, her soft skin beneath his fingers, and he doesn't even think anything of it as his lips gently sweep across her hairline.

* * *

After a night of restless tossing and turning, he eventually relents to his temporary insomnia and sits up in bed. The moon is hung high, illuminating the navy blue of the sky. Finn stares with hooded eyelids, a yawn following. It's not uncommon that he can't sleep, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating, especially as his mom instantly recognizes the bags under his eyes in the morning, and the way his appearance is more dishevelled than usual. She always worries much more then, and what's the point in worrying about somebody like him when there are people like Rachel and her family?

He tenses at the march of footsteps outside the house, taking but a second to pass by. The usual breath of relief follows, Finn forced to remember the time he's seen soldiers barge into surrounding homes. His biggest fear is to hear _their_ front door crashing open, for them to find Rachel and take her away.

Finn is distracted as frantic running and screaming echoes from the streets and bounces toward his room. Just then a blast of shots ring out, a deafening silence following. He sits still as a statue, waiting on baited breath for some sort of sound, for ___anything_. His ears ring, pulse becoming unbearably loud that it feels like a drum beating in his head. His trembling legs lift him from the soft linen of the bed, where he's carried to the window.

The dim light from the street lamp is reflected by the scatter of evening rain against the cobbled streets, but his attention is drawn to the limp body in the middle of the street. Laughter haunts his ears, and his eyes follow the group of soldiers moving in the opposite direction. Fear engulfs him, setting his heart apace. Gaze returning to the body, obviously a Jew, he images Rachel in its place. He doesn't know ___why_ he thinks that, he jut does. He's instantly sickened by his own thought, of Rachel being at the mercy of the Nazi party. She's the same age as him, and she doesn't deserve the same fate as the poor man before him, not just because she's a Jew.

Before he gets carried away with his disturbing ideas, he pulls himself away from the window and back to the bed. This time instead of silence, hushed voices carry from the ceiling. It takes a few seconds for his sleepy mind to piece together that the voices belong to the people they're hiding in the attic and that he's not dreaming that they have ghosts or something. Instead, he begins to recognize Rachel's sweet tone over the uncharacteristically gentle hum of Noah as he comforts his sister.

He can't understand their words, but something tells him that he's not the only one to witness the scene in the street.

He lies back in bed, closing his eyes and wishing that this was all a nightmare that he could wake up from.

* * *

"You finished another one?" he asks her with a smile, clearly impressed, "I only brought it to you the other day."

"I couldn't put it down," Rachel beams toward him as she cradles the book to her chest. She drops down into the seat at the table, staring up at him, "did you bring anything else?"

He gives an apologetic look, hating the way her face drops with disappointment. "I'll get you some new books when I take this one back," he promises, taking it from her slowly. She pushes a smile back onto her face at the prospect of new books to read, bringing a smile to his own.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I need something to make the days less mundane." Finn's expression falters then; it doesn't go unnoticed by the girl. "I really appreciate it, Finn – you don't have to do this for me," she continues.

"Well, I know how much you love reading..."

"Rachel always has loved reading," Hiram interjects with a smile, "I still remember teaching her how to read."

"Did you not learn in school?" he asks.

She looks away from him, momentarily catching the gaze of her father, "I actually, ah, I didn't go to school. Well, I did, but I stopped going when I was seven... so anything that I didn't learn Papa taught me. Noah too." Rachel smiles toward Hiram.

"So you were basically homeschooled?"

"I guess so," she accepts that alternative, clearly liking to think of it as more of a choice than something forced upon her, "when Papa wasn't working as a doctor we'd have our classes." A real laugh escapes her plump lips now, "Noah hated it."

Hiram grins too, "he'd do anything to get out of learning." Though he's acting annoyed, there's a fondness to his voice, "he's always had a certain disregard for the rules." Finn doesn't find that too hard to believe; just looking at Noah intimidates the boy, especially when he clearly doesn't like Finn. And that dislike consists of glowering at him every time he's in the attic and muttering things under his breath. The worst part is the looks Finn receives whenever he gets close to Rachel – no doubt Noah is very protective of her.

With this in mind, he clasps the read book to his side and stands. Rachel knows what this means, peering at him through her dark lashes sadly. "You only just got here," she says.

"I should go," Finn insists, "if you need anything else, uh, just remember to tell me or mom the next time we come up here."

"When will that be?" Rachel doesn't miss a beat.

His face scrunches up, "I don't really know." Her shoulders slump, and he quickly tries to resurrect her smile. "As soon as I – uh, I mean _we_ can."

* * *

"Finn, I don't want you learning to shoot a gun," his mother says for what must be the hundredth time, while guilt quietly eats him whole.

"I don't get a choice in it."

"You could refuse," Carole responds, though they both know the answer to that. Disobedience will only get him into further trouble, and he's on thin ice already. Though he follows orders, he's positive that his tutors can see his reluctance each and every time, especially in their latest class. "Or perhaps you could take the day off. I'll say that you're sick."

Eyes widening in surprise, he cocks his head to the side. "You never let me miss school." He tries to speak lightly, the hint of humor to his voice, though it's more forced than casual.

"Finn." Her voice remains serious.

"It won't make a difference," he corrects her, "I'll still have to learn. When I'm eighteen, they'll expect me to join The _Wehrmacht, _and what good am I to them if I can't shoot a gun?" He glowers toward his mother.

She gives pause, lips pulling away from her drink. Then Carole watches him with that almost regretful look, the same one that keeps returning these days. Standing, she slowly walks around the table, placing a hand on either shoulder. This close, he can see the tears threatening to fall from her wrinkled eyes, his throat clenching up at the sight of his mother upset. "I can not go in, if that's what you want," he tries to his best to appease her, to make her smile again.

She doesn't.

Dragging in a deep sigh, he looks into her eyes, silently pleading with her to stop crying. "Oh sweetheart, it's not just about taking one day off – it's..." She closes her eyes briefly, anguish flooding over her features, "I'm scared, Finn."

"About what?" he questions, not even resisting as she tugs him closer into a tight embrace. At his age, he's usually one to refuse any form of smothering from his mother, but he feels her need for this and so remains pliable in her arms.

Her eyes drift over him briefly, "I'm scared that you're going to turn into one of them."

He doesn't need further explanation, already knowing exactly who she's referring to; the suggestion makes him recoil as though she's on fire, eyes ablaze with disbelief. "Y – you think I'd let that happen?"

"No, no," she gently cups his face, "of course not, Finn. It's just that you're young, impressionable, and the things that they teach you in school -"

"I don't listen to it, Mom," he reassures her. He's always made his distaste for school clear, especially as the lessons contrasted with the moral lessons instilled in him by his mother since he was born. While school insisted the importance of 'pure blood', of racial supremacy, Carole raised him to be indiscriminate, to see people for their heart and not for their lineage. But day after day at school the same mantras are hammered into the minds of him and his peers, and it's been that way for as long as he can remember.

She nods, a proud smile growing on her lips, "I know you don't. I just worry sometimes, because all I want is for you to be safe."

"I'll always be safe," Finn assures her, even if he can't tell whether that's true or not.

Sniffling, she blinks away the remaining tears. "That's what your father said to me." The words hold a melancholy tone that causes a deep pang within his chest, and he moves to return her embrace, to remind her that he's still there with her, even if his father isn't.

* * *

The lead up to summer begins with what feels like never ending hours of school. While the day is spent there, the evenings are spent sat with his mother listening to news of the war on their kitchen radio, which weighs on their minds as they sit quietly together. The most depressing that of a ghetto in Warsaw completely destroyed in wake of an uprising during its liquidation. He feels sick as he relays the numbers of people killed on the streets. Men, women, children – anyone and everyone.

He goes to the attic that night. His visits have become sparse as he heads his mother's warnings, and he knows he should just let her take them what they need, but he can't seem to keep himself away.

And he's yet to admit to himself that it's _Rachel_ who he can't stay away from.

The three sit in stone silence as his news of the failed revolt sinks in. Noah's face contorts with anger, bitterness; Hiram has his hands clasped together in a soundless prayer, but Rachel looks to him, eyes searching him for something he fears he doesn't have. He moves to sit beside her at the second hand table, a hand gently reaching out to touch her thin arm.

They all jump as Noah stands, the chair scraping against the floor with an ear splitting groan. He rushes into his and Rachel's room, slamming the door shut after him. Finn feels Rachel flinch, eyeing the door where her brother most probably seethes behind.

Hiram peers apologetically toward Finn, getting up to go after his son. Rachel's eyes follow, bottom lip jutting out as he disappears behind the door, just like Noah had. Though he finds it difficult to focus on them at that moment, not as he sees tears swimming in her eyes. "Don't cry."

She sniffles loudly, not bothering to listen to his words. Staring down at her hands clenched in front of her, she asks in a hauntingly sorrowful voice, "what did we do that was so wrong?"

"What?"

Rachel moves away from him then, instead her arms rising to hug herself, "why do they hate us so much? What did we do?" Her eyes are scorned with past memories, finally pushing the tears over the edge.

At her words, Finn's mind goes blank, throat seizing up. As usual, his words fail him, and he opens and closes his mouth with nothing coming out. She groans in frustration, standing angrily just like her brother had. This time she chooses to pace the room, her features knotted tightly together. "I just don't understand – you try and follow the rules, you do everything that they tell you to do, live where they want you to live, and in the end..." Her eyes harden, in contrast to the way her lip wobbles dangerously. "It doesn't matter," she continues, voice thick with upset, "they don't kill us because we did something wrong, they kill us because we're Jewish."

Face crumpling, she tries to turn so that he doesn't see the onslaught of tears, but he's known her for months and he was on his feet when he'd seen the tell tale signs of her distress. She doesn't shrug off his advances this time, crying into his shoulder.

He doesn't know what to say to her, what could possibly counter all the hate she's had thrown toward her just because of her race, the hate that she's known all her life. It's not exactly like she can hide her roots. Her faith is as plain as the nose on her face, along with her olive skin and chestnut hair. She couldn't look more Jewish if she tried. "Why?" she asks again, "we didn't do anything wrong." Through her spoken words, he hears instead '___I_didn't do anything wrong.' Finn holds her tighter then.

"Shhh," he runs his fingers through her soft hair.

"I just wish that things were different."

Giving a moment's pause, he then offers his own solemn response. "Me too."

* * *

That morning as he jogs down the stairs, he quickly realizes that there are more people in the kitchen than just his mother. He peeks around the corner to see Burt Hummel sat in his mother's place, while she stands over the stove with a smile brighter than any he's seen in months. Eyebrow cocking upwards, he tentatively pads forward.

"Morning Finn," Carole says cheerily, and suddenly he feels like he's five again, when she'd greet him in such a way and give a huge kiss to his forehead. There's no kiss this morning, but her bright attitude takes him back to times when things weren't so bad.

"Mornin'" he mumbles tiredly, greeting Burt much the same way. Being one of the few mechanics in town, he's always the go to guy for his mother, and Finn hasn't missed the way that his name always seems to be on the tip of her tongue during recent conversations.

While Burt sips on coffee, he slides himself into the chair opposite with his own breakfast. It's quickly devoured as per usual, leaving him to catch the glances shared between his mom and Burt. "So..." he begins, eyes questioning.

"Mr Hummel came over for some coffee," she says vaguely, a little too vaguely for his liking.

"Coffee," he repeats, a smirk threatening to grow on his lips. She gives him a look.

"And to check the car," Burt offers, "your mom says there's a problem with the clutch."

His head snaps around to his mom; he hasn't heard anything about _that_ problem. Whatever they plan on doing, he certainly knows that he doesn't want to be around them while it happens, and so he reaches for his school bag hung beside the pantry, checking that everything is there. "Well, I'm going to go," he slowly starts.

Carole slowly places down her drink, moving to hug him tightly. "Be good," she says, but he can hear what she really means._ Be safe._

* * *

"Thank you Carole," Hiram chants over and over as his mom stands beside him. Finn carries a basket stuffed with as much food as possible for the three inhabitants to last them at least the next week. He feels Rachel's eyes on him the entire time, her smouldering gaze not faltering for a second, even as he turns to send an inquisitive glance her way. Instead, she only gives a small smirk in response. A blush spreads from his cheeks right to his ears, leaving him pink.

While the adults are oblivious to the exchange, Noah's jaw tenses, and his eyes narrow toward the boy.

Finn only furthers himself into setting all the food neatly on the table, only to jump at the feeling of a hand clenching down on his shoulder. Head snapping around, he's surprised to find that it belongs to Rachel, but that revelation only makes him smile further. Without a word, she silently helps him take the food, at one point her soft fingers brushing against his calloused ones. Finn pauses, eyes wide and face embarrassed, but she takes no notice.

His mom and Hiram discuss the news she's heard in the past few days, though he knows that none of it offers hope. In fact, things only seem to be getting worse. Shoulders slumping at that, he lets disappointment take hold. That is, until Rachel's voice pulls him from its grasp. "You haven't been up here for a while," she points out in a playfulness that he rarely sees from the girl, but he doesn't miss the serious tone lurking inside her words.

"Yeah," answers Finn, "my mom said that we shouldn't come up too much – we've gotta be careful, you know? We don't want anyone to find out that you're here..."

"Oh."

Clearing his throat, he watches as her eyes move anywhere but on him. "She's right though. The most important thing is keeping you safe, n-no matter how much I wanted to see you."

She stops then. Her thin fingers halt, holding the small sack of potatoes mid-air as she twists her neck to get a better look at his expression. Nothing but total honesty burns in his hazel eyes, while he offers a soft smile. Thankfully, she returns it - Finn's heart swells at the sight of her own fond gesture. It's kind of stupid of him, he knows, but he can't help the way his hand reaches out to take hers, grasping it lightly.

"You really mean that?" she asks with pure happiness soaked into her voice.

"I want to see you all the time." He admits, sounding surprised at his own words. They'd been hushed, meant for only Rachel's ears, but the way Noah's face reddens with each passing second leads him to this that he may have overhead. His cheeks burn brightly at that, only for his racing heart to be calmed as Rachel squeezes his hand. The smile she gives is one of regret now, as though she too is wishing that they could see each other all the time.

The basket is empty, the minimal amount of food lay over the table, but rather than seem miserable about how little they have, he sees the gratitude in all of their eyes.

Rachel, with her gaze trained on him the entire time, returns to stand by her brother. He reaches out to take her arm, sending hushed words into her ear; Finn notes how the smile slips from her face in an instant, a look of petulance replacing her happiness. Whatever words she responds with cause her brother to scowl, eyes directly aimed at Finn as though his glare could kill. He's grateful when his mom calls him to leave, the boy picking up the basket and giving a small wave as he leaves.

* * *

His calves ache with exertion as he walks home that night, greeting the few neighbors that acknowledge him on the way, Mr Hummel being one of them. The warm sun beats down on him, his feet shuffling against the road with each second that passes.

The minute he enters the house, his satchel is dropped to the floor to rid him of the extra weight, and he wipes that sweat that's gathered on his forehead with the back of his hand. He's barely in the house for a few seconds when his mother passes him the newly fixed radio, asking him to take it upstairs. He gives a dutiful nod, inwardly jumping for joy at the thought of seeing Rachel again, and takes the stairs two at a time.

Clutching the radio under his arm, he knocks three times as usual and tries to tame the grin on his face. Despite his tired body, he feels his spirit renewed in an instant.

It's Noah that answers, not Hiram he notices, and the usual scowl he wears is multiplied by a thousand for some reason. Finn tries to ignore it, knowing that he must be in one of his moods, as Rachel calls them, and steps inside the room.

"Finn." _There's_ the voice that he wants to hear, head snapping up to gaze toward Rachel.

But she doesn't return it, instead her gaze just as sombre as her brother's, trained at him. No, not at him – at the _clothes_ that he's wearing. Confused, he stares down at his uniform, unsure of why that would make them stare at him as though he's not the same Finn that they've know for months, but – oh.

_Oh._

His heart sinks right to the ground, as if weighed down by a ton's worth of guilt.

He's still wearing his uniform, the stupid uniform that he has no choice in wearing. And what's worse is the swastika over his right breast pocket, exactly in the same place where the star of David is placed on hers. The air grows thick around them, tension crawling down his throat and attempting to choke him.

He pleads for one of them to speak, but not even Rachel can manage to bring herself to words, instead staring toward him with a concoction of confusion and upset, her large eyes glossing over. His heart beats dangerously in his chest, especially when Noah's indignant stare only grows in intensity, anger ready to burst at any second.

Finn feels shame sink into his bones, unable to meet their gazes. They've moved so that they're on one side of the room, as far away from him as possible, while his shaky fingers remain clasped around the renovated radio. It's him and them.

Suddenly his mother's words come crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. _I'm scared that you're going to turn into one of them. _He glares a glance toward the two siblings, where he finds Rachel still looking to him with question lurking in her expression, but her brother has his arms protectively around her, daring Finn to come closer.

He swallows his pride, and lifts up the radio to show them. "Um, my mom got this fixed for you." They don't say anything. "I'll just leave it here." Lowering it to the table, he clears his throat and spares one more glance their way before trudging out of the room.

All that night, the image of Rachel's scared face is burned into his mind.

* * *

He leaves it a couple of days. And then a couple more. Before he knows it, a few weeks have passed and he still hasn't seem them.

Something that he isn't quite familiar with is a heavy presence on his chest, one that he can't shake off no matter what he tries. All he knows is that they probably don't want to see him right now, especially dressed like he was.

Finn wants to explain himself; that he _hates_ that uniform, that he's forced to wear it. But he doesn't think that they'd want to listen to his excuses.

Every few days, he watches as his mom goes to the attic. She always gives him the same look – he'd told her about what had happened. While she'd assured him that there's no reason to be upset, he can't help feeling ashamed at being caught in that uniform, especially in front of Rachel. Every time he closes his eyes, she's there, and the look of disappointment from this Rachel is almost too much to bear.

But then his mom starts spending more and more evenings at Burt's house, and she leaves him the basket of food as usual to take up to the three, who're probably desperate for food right about now. He takes a huge breath in hopes of steadying his nerves, before knocking on the hidden door. When Hiram opens it, his hesitant greeting makes Finn want to turn around and leave, but then he sees the man hungrily eyeing the basket.

He pushes a smile onto his lips, requiring all his energy to keep it there as he steps further into the room. "I have some food for you," he mumbles out, dropping the basket on the table which wobbles under the weight.

"Thank you, son," Hiram pats his back, appreciative of the help. Finn lowers his head; he doesn't deserve the praise.

Hiram eyes his son, who stands with arms firmly across his chest, "Noah, don't forget your manners." His tone is tense, but he really can't blame him – being around each other every minute of every day can't exactly be easy, only amplified by the situation.

The teenager straightens himself up, jaw locked tightly as he tersely gets out, "thank you."

Satisfied, Hiram nods and then smiles toward Finn, who can't help but feel a little redundant now that they've got the food. Usually his mom will keep some form of conversation flowing, but Finn finds himself scuffing his feet against the worn wood, unsure of where to start.

Thankfully the silence is filled in without him being immediately thrown out of the attic. "Where's your sister?"

"Still sleeping, Pa,"

His thick eyebrows bunch together, the worry lines even more prominent on his pale skin. "That's not like her," he breathes out.

Noah shrugs, "she said that she had a headache, so I just left her to rest."

Upon hearing this, Finn fills with sympathy for the girl. While he's not exactly sure where they stand at the moment, the idea of her being in any sort of pain is the opposite of what he wants. "Can I go see her?" For a moment, he doesn't even realize that those are his own words until he finds two sets of eyes on him. Rachel probably doesn't want to see him, but now that he's here the pull toward her is too strong, too overwhelming to ignore.

He looks hopefully up to Hiram, relief settling in as the man gives a curt nod.

"Bu -"

"Let the boy see her, Noah."

Noah grumbles something under his breath, throwing himself on the old dusty chair in the corner, which earns a chastising look from his father. Finn hesitates, then gives a weak smile to Hiram as he pads over to the door of Rachel's room. He knocks a couple of times, ever aware that he's being watched.

On the other side, he hears a small noise of approval to enter and gulps, hoping that his reception this time is more what he's used to from the girl. He hurries into the room then, glad to be free of prying eyes, only to stop when he sees her.

She's a small bump under the scratchy sheets she sleeps with, face almost as pale as the gray material. Her face is contorted with pain, forehead scrunched together in a knot that seems to be stuck. "Rachel?" he calls out in concern, just as it snaps in her mind exactly who is in her room, the girl shooting up from bed.

"What are you doing here?" she demands to know, clearly caught off guard as she wraps the blankets even tighter around her body, and it's only then that he notices she's in her sleepwear.

Throat closing up, his cheeks burn in embarrassment and Rachel flashes the same dull color of red. Then it's gone, the pink draining from her face, followed by a cough. He swiftly leaves his hesitance behind and steps right in front of the bed. A hand reaches out to touch her scolding forehead, widening in worry. "Are you alright?" The answer is clearly no, if her hooded eyes and the flood of exhaustion on her face are anything to go by.

She holds a hand to her forehead, letting out a pathetic sounding moan. "Finn," she whines, "what – what are you doing?"

The words are weaker this time, her eyes closing as she tries to calm the fire in her forehead. He watches as she moves again, her disjointed movements and whimpers alerting him that something is wrong, really wrong. All thoughts of their last meeting fly out of the window, and he drops onto the bed next to her, calling her name again. It takes her a few seconds longer this time to react, her eyes more distant than before. "My mom's out of town," he briskly says, "I was bringing your food – but that's not important." His eyes glance over her entire body, taking her hand in his. She is scorching hot, like she's been lay in the sun all afternoon on a long summer's day.

But she hasn't been.

She's been cooped up in this stupid attic for almost a year now and she _shouldn't_ be that warm.

"My stomach hurts," she complains, a hand lingering over her abdomen.

He nods frantically. He reaches up a hand to the top of her neck, placing two fingers against the skin, where her pulse is racing like a wild animal wanting to be free of its cage – it beats in time with his.

"Come on, lay down," he insists, helping her back onto the thin mattress.

He's surprised when she leans into him, a smile rising to his lips despite the situation, but it plummets as soon as strong coughs wrack through her fragile body.

Finn jumps to his feet, hurrying out of the door. "Hiram," he cries out, "it's Rachel. She's – there's something wrong!" His clear panic has the other two men squeezing themselves into the room definitely not intended for four people in a matter of seconds. They all crowd the bed, staring down in sheer terror at the sight of Rachel.

Scared father and conflicted doctor fight for a few moments in Hiram's expression, before he pushes back his personal feelings and begins to examine her. "Stay still, sweetheart," he gently tells her, trying to keep to his professional side, even as cough hacks her throat. She moans then, letting her head drop against Noah's shoulder as her father continues to check her over, Finn noticing how his fingers shake.

"Papa, what's wrong with me?" she asks quietly, clammy hands wringing together. He doesn't hesitate in taking hold of one, despite her brother's pointed stare.

"I don't know, darling." He says regretfully, "it could be any number of illness, and without any real equipment..." Hiram appears regretful, pushing some knotted hair away from her tired face. Tears suddenly flood her eyes, the young girl complaining of the pain once more. "Shh," he wraps his arms around her, "it's okay. It's going to be fine."

She doesn't look convinced by his words.

If Finn's being completely honest with himself, he isn't either. He _wants_ to believe him, but it's hard to believe people these days.

* * *

She stays pretty much the same for the next few days, only for her pain to grow in frequency. When his mom finds out, she grows just as worried as the rest of them, trying to offer as much help as she possibly can. Unfortunately, that isn't a lot of help at all. Not without the medicine that Rachel really needs.

Before the _Third Reich_ had forbidden her from working, she'd been a nurse. With that, she and Hiram kept watch over Rachel, gently silences all her moans and cries over the pain.

"How is she?" he doesn't skip a beat in asking, as always.

Carole gives him a sympathetic look, her mouth falling open to speak, but she's reluctant. He sighs before she even has to tell him the clear bad news. "She has a rash now."

"Oh." His heart seizes in his chest, "w-what does that mean?"

A long sigh ensues, her face strained, "Hiram thinks it's typhus."

He takes a step back, almost floored by the answer. Finn doesn't know what he'd been expecting to hear – really, he knew that the news was never going to be good – but _that_... just hearing that makes him sick, dizzy. He sways on his feet for a moment, reaching out for the door frame to support him. "So what happens now?" He dares to ask, not wanting to know the answer at all.

He's heard stories, about people getting typhus in those labor camps, how hundreds have died from it already. The severity of the situation doesn't go unnoticed by Finn, and he's overcome with the desire to see her again, to make sure that she's okay. But he _can't_. He really, really wishes that he could.

Carole appears pensive, her lips a long, thin line. "It can be treated," she states, carefully. Her eyes watch him intensely the entire time. He waits for the inevitable 'but' that's to follow. She doesn't let him down, "_but_, I don't know how we're going to get the medicine for it."

Time seems to stand still upon hearing that revelation, Finn unsure of how things are going to move forward at all. If they can't get the medicine, does that mean...? But no, he won't accept that. Rachel is stronger than that, he knows it. She won't just give up. Then he sees the image of her, lay in her bed so weakly, and his stomach drops. The idea that she might not make it cause tears to sting his eyes, leaving him blind for matter of seconds.

He moves away from his mother's sympathy dripping expression and moves to his room. The door finds itself kicked shut in an instant, his hurt transforming into rage._ It's not fair_. Out of all the people in the world, all of the millions of humans out there, why does it has to be Rachel and her family that suffers like this? As if things weren't already bad enough; they just have to be repeatedly kicked while they're already desperate on the floor.

Finn's heart yearns painfully for her well-being, for a slither of hope that she'll recover, that this won't be a lost battle.

Glancing up toward the ceiling, he images her lay in that bed, which is stripped of the old sheets blankets and fresh with new ones – some of his, actually. He imagines her _alone_. And she shouldn't be, not when she's going through something like this.

But Hiram insists, especially if she's contagious.

And that means that the only people seeing her are his mom and Hiram, and yeah, he wants her to get better and for everyone else to stay safe, but it's killing him not to see her. He wants to be around her, to feel her touch, see her soft smile.

He misses her _so much_ – more than he thought it possible to miss someone.

There's just something about her than he can't stand to stay away from, and he really doesn't know what it is that he can't keep himself from. Maybe it's her kind nature, her care for everyone else, or her sweet, beautiful voice. Perhaps it's the way she looks at him fondly, with so much appreciation in her her eyes. Or maybe, it's just _her_.

* * *

He does go to see her, eventually. He begs and he begs, and then he begs some more, until he's allowed to go into Rachel's room. He's warned to keep a distance and to keep it brief; though she's not contagious it'll be safer that way.

With a glass of water in his hand, he nervously taps the wood. She doesn't respond, but a nod from Hiram means he can enter, so he does. He lowers the water to the creaking floorboards, then gently calls out her name.

Rachel shifts under the covers, turning her head ever so slightly. The incline allows her to see him, through the thin slithers of her eyes; the corners of her lips turn into a soft, sleepy smile. "Hi Rach," he greets, lowering himself to the free space on the bed. The warnings he'd just been giving by both adults fly from his mind, and his hand reaches out, gently resting over her warm fingers – he smiles at the way they perfectly fit in his.

"Papa let you in?" she asks, a hint of amusement to her tone.

He laughs, relief settling in at her mild behavior. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been snappy, unfriendly, but he supposes he'd be like that too if he were in that much pain.

"I think I wore him down with asking so much."

"Asking so much?" Her pupils follow his every movement, even if that only consists of his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"Yeah," he can't help but smile, "anything to get to see you again. A whole week without you has been kind of hard." He sees something change in her at that confession, her eyes sparkling like the sun is hidden behind them.

Moving again – despite her body's protest from the pain – she rests on her side, staring up at him. The entire time their hands stay joined. "I – I missed you too." The words, though utters weakly, leave his heart bursting with happiness.

But as she coughs harshly again the situation comes crashing down on him. The way her features tug and pull with pain causes his heart to ache sympathetically, squeezing her hand in what he hopes is comfort. Despite her sickness, the clear fatigue washing over her, he can't help but think that she still looks beautiful. He gently rubs her back as she coughs, wincing every time he hears that ugly noise.

Now finished, she looks up to him, "why did it take you so long to come to see me again?" The genuine upset in her voice breaks him in two, his mouth falling open with unshared words. She observes him for a moment, before whispering in a confused tone, "I thought you said that you always wanted to see me."

He bows his head then, biting at his lip. Still, his fingers remain tightly clasped around hers, even as he feels her intensely staring at him.

"Finn," she says, urging him to speak.

Eyes closing, he sighs, "I was ashamed, okay?"

"Ashamed?" Her tongue twists around the word as thought it's completely foreign. "Why?"

"Because... you saw me in my uniform."

No response this time. His heart is heavy, drooping with the pure disgrace that he feels welling inside, and he dares – just for a second – to glance up to her face. She's wearing that frown, the one that he hates more than anything; it's managed to creep into her eyes, which convey a scarily equal amount of sadness.

But she shouldn't be sad, not about this. He was expecting her to be angry.

All his words suddenly appear, flying out at once and fighting for her attention. "I wasn't supposed to be wearing it – I mean, I was, but I normally change out of it but I forgot to. I never wanted you to see that, you've got to know." He shakes his head slowly, "I don't have a choice, Rachel. _Please_ believe me. If it were up to me, I'd never wear that stupid uniform again." The words grow faster with each passing second, as does the pounding of his heart.

Rachel sees how worked up he's making himself, placing a hand softly to his shoulder. "Shhh," she orders, the soft hand reaching to cup his chin, "I know, Finn. I know."

"No," he persists, "I'm not one of them – I don't want anything to do with this." His hand moves over hers, covering it entirely. His eyes beg her to trust his words. To his surprise, she gives the hint of a smile, some spark flashing back in her dark eyes.

"I know," she coos gently.

He doesn't even realize as tears spring to his eyes, but just the idea of doing what thousands do on a daily basis – hurting all those people – makes him sick to his stomach. Not only that, but Rachel thinking he does that, too. And Hiram, and Noah. They need to see him as _Finn_, not as what society wants him to be.

Rachel notes the doubt in his eyes, swimming there right alongside worry and panic. Pushing past the pain, she moves from Finn's grasp and reaching for one of her dresses hanging from the washing lines.

Confused, he only watches.

She turns the material over in her hands as her eyes scour for something in particular. And then she finds it. The star of David sewn into the soft pink, standing out against everything else. Finn tilts his head, still not comprehending where she's going with this. "They made me wear this too," Rachel starts, "I didn't have any choice in it, I didn't _want_ to wear it, but they made me." Her expression falters, "that's all they ever saw me as – a Jew."

As another fit of coughs return, she's forced to pause. Finn holds her until they subside, his hands massaging her thin back. Peering up to him, she pushes some loose hair back from her face, "but I'm more than that, Finn. I'm a human being, as much of they like to delude themselves otherwise... I'm more than what they think of me."

"And you," she manages a smile, "you're not your uniform. I know it. You're kind and sincere, and your heart is so big. Even if they make you wear their symbol, Finn, that doesn't make you one of them. Just like wearing this never makes me just a Jew. I'm so much more than that, and so are you." Her fingers ever so softly curl around his, warm and gentle. "don't let them define you as anything but yourself."

They're silent for a few moments, Finn pondering over her quiet words. Eventually, he sighs and looks down to her. "Thank you, Rachel."

She gives a brighter smile then – his own grows at the sight of it. When she smiles, he manages to forget about everything, if only for a few seconds. Those moments of bliss, where they're nothing but Finn and Rachel, and the world feels like a much safer place.

Rachel lets her head fall against his shoulder, their conversation having stolen all of her remaining energy. Her eyes droop closed, body becoming a dead weight against him. A content hum falls from his lips, before her slowly manoeuvres her so she's comfortably lay in the bed with blankets piled over her. He takes the dress from her unresisting hands and places it back only the line, turning to stare at her again.

Even in her sleep she seems troubled, her body restless as it twists and twitches on the thin mattress. Her forehead scrunches together, lips tugging downwards in a frown. When she whimpers, he sits by her side, and he watches her slowly in her sleep, protecting her as much as he can.

He's so engrossed in the girl before him that he barely notices Noah step inside the room. Noah stands against the wall, eyes moving from his sister to Finn with a frightening realization.

"You really care for her," he says simply. It's not a question; it's a statement.

Finn blinks, twisting his neck to stare up at him. He's slightly intimidated, seeing as he's never been keen on him. In fact, he always seems to be annoyed when he sees Finn, but now his voice holds none of that. He's spoken with more resignation than anything else. And when Finn looks at his dark eyes, he only sees sympathy.

He squeezes Rachel's hand. "I just – I want her to be happy, to be safe."

Noah nods, "she was miserable without you, you know."

"She was?"

"Worse than I've seen her since all this began." He soon sighs, "she thinks the world of you."

Upon hearing that, Finn smiles lovingly toward the girl, his heart swelling ten times its size.

* * *

Rachel's condition slowly declines in the next couple of days, until she's completely lethargic. He doesn't get to see her then, he's not allowed to. Not even his mom sees her – just Hiram and Noah.

The cycle of missing her starts all over again, which is only worsened when Hiram's usually detailed reports of her status become vaguer, like he doesn't want to quite admit to himself her physical state. He knows it's bad. He knows that she's not eating, not drinking; she's in unimaginable pain, while he struggles to keep her from his mind. Even in school, he's unable to concentrate. His mind always finds itself returning to the girl who's crept her way into his heart.

That night when he returns home, it's quiet – scarily so. He hates the lack of noise, the lack of life surrounding him, and purposely doesn't try to keep quiet as he makes his way around the rooms.

"Mom?" he calls as soon as he realizes that she's nowhere to be found, which means she's probably in the attic. But he doesn't – no, he _can't_ – go there. Not when Rachel is like this.

He sits himself in the living room, letting the silence envelope him. The bad day at school seems to catch up with him, the boy sinking further into the couch with a dejected sigh.

His eyes close quickly after that. And he lets his thoughts take over, as usual losing himself in happier thoughts. He slightly picks up the sound of footsteps coming from the hall, but he doesn't move, he's just so tired of all of this. "Finn," Carole says softly, but there's something else lurking in her tone, almost distress. Finn's whisky eyes suddenly find themselves on his mother, taking in her frazzled appearance. Every nerve in his body suddenly stands on end – he hasn't seen her this frantic since she first brought Hiram, Rachel and Noah to the house.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm," she pauses, seeming to catch her breath, "I'm going to be fine, I just..."

Finn rises to his feet, hurrying over to her, "why do you look so scared?"

"I'm not, not anymore."

Confusion spreads through him, and it must be evident on his face because she pulls him into a hug. The small action instantly calms him, though he's still left seeking answers. "Mom," he begins, tugging himself back slightly to take another glance at her expression, noticing how it's barely changed from moments ago. "What's going on?"

"Well, I managed to get some medicine for Rachel." Her voice is tender and calm now; she attempts a smile. The news of medicine ought to be happy – somewhere in the back of his mind he's relieved to hear it, but there are more pressing matters.

"How did you," he gulps, voice grave, "how did you get it, mom?" She doesn't work as a nurse any more; she doesn't have any access into the hospital, so how did she acquire the medicine to treat something as serious as typhus? He pieces this together with her clear worry, and only comes to one conclusion. That she somehow _stole_ it. Finn sucks in a sharp breath, hands tightening on her shoulders, "what if someone finds out what you did? Mom, I don't want anything to happen to you." The desperation in his voice piques, only for her to shush him gently.

"I didn't have a choice. I couldn't go another day thinking of Rachel up there – I had to do something."

"Bu -"

"No buts, Finn. When they came here, I promised to help them no matter what. And I had to keep my promise. Besides, what did we have to lose?"

He does a double take at her words, "_everything_. We have everything to lose."

"We have nothing," she cuts back, "they've taken away my job, my friends, my life, and you – they're trying to take your future." Carole seethes silently, "while we live here, while this hell is going on around us, all we have is each other."

Finn's silent at her words, which take a few moments to sink in. When they do, dread grows heavy on his shoulders over the situation, the gloomy outlook that his mother has. It _kills_ him to see her so hopeless, but he knows there's nothing that he can do to revive her hope, not now anyway.

He blinks back tears, throat suddenly tight. "Are you sure that you're okay? That no one will know?"

Carole nods then, albeit a little cautiously. He can only believe her for now.

"And the medicine?"

This finally brings some life back into her eyes, Carole explaining that it could be a few days before there's any improvements and all they can do now is wait.

He bites back a scorned response. Finn knows that he shouldn't be angry at his mother – he should be angry at this whole situation, but most of all he's angry because once again he's useless. He can only _wait_ for things to get better.

* * *

He can't bring himself to sleep that night, a mixture of anticipation and worry keeping his body up throughout the entire night. In school, he sits with huge bags under his eyes and a slumped posture, much to the dismay of his schoolmaster.

But finally some good news arrives upon his arrival home.

At first he sees his mom, and he's sure that she's fretting again. She's never looked more tired. Then she looks up at him, happiness in her eyes and a smile splitting onto her face.

The relief radiates from her, moving into him.

_The medicine is working. Rachel is getting better._

Finn doesn't stop smiling for the entire day.

* * *

She's oddly sullen as he arrives in her room, finding her looking up at that damn window again. The end of fall brings with it darker nights, and through the small pane of glass he can see stars shining down over the town. Rachel stares intently, lost in her thoughts. Still recovering from her illness, she's mostly confined to her room to rest, but he can see the frustration in her eyes. She feels more trapped than ever.

He gently places his large hands around her shoulders, massaging the muscles beneath. Rachel sighs under his touch, not even having to turn to know that it's him. She leans further into his chest, head tilting backwards. Hands sliding from her shoulders, they soon find their way around her tiny waist. "What's wrong?" he asks her when she doesn't greet him with her usual eagerness.

"Hmm, I just..." she trails off, her eyes wandering upwards again.

"Rachel," he pushes.

There's a long beat.

"It's been a year."

Finn twists his neck to get a better look at her expression, which is completely crestfallen. "A year?"

With a small nod, she continues, "a whole year living here." Her lower lip wobbles, "I kept telling myself that things would be better, that it couldn't possibly last _this_ long – but nothing is better. In fact, it's so much worse." She moves from his hold, dropping onto the bed before staring up at him.

He watches her sadly. "Rach."

"What if it never ends? What if everyone just keeps on fighting and killing each other, and I'm stuck here for the rest of my life? I miss being able to go outside, I miss my friend, I miss my _home_..." Rachel scoffs then, "I don't even know what home feels like any more."

Finn bows his head, trying his best to assure her otherwise."You're not going to be stuck here for the rest of your life." He sighs, wishing that he could say that with more certainty.

"How do you know?" she snaps, "it's either this, or leave here. And _then what?_ Be caught by them, forced to work and live in those horrible places." Her arms slide together so they're folded over her small chest, "you never say exactly what happens to people there, but I can see it in your eyes – how scared you are."

His eyes meet the floor, not wanting to grant her passage to the things that he's seen, that he's heard happens to those people. That they're bruised and bloodied and broken bodies are forced to work until they just die. Rachel bites her lower lip, his reaction only further fuelling her suspicions. She leans further into the wall, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. When Finn does glance up, he sees her curled up on the bed with tears brimming in her eyes. "Rachel," he breathes out, a lump crawling up his throat and blocking any more words from forming.

"I'm so terrified," she whispers, "_all the time._ I think about what would happen to us if we were caught – my Papa wouldn't last long, he's old and - "

"Rach -" He tries to put these cruel thoughts to rest instantly.

She continues regardless, "he's getting weaker now." The first tear falls, opening a floodgate of water down her cheeks. "Noah would get himself into trouble, I know he would. He'd do something, say something – the _wrong_ thing..." Rachel doesn't finish, but he knows what she's implying, and the idea isn't too far fetched.

Somehow, she manages to curl further into herself, so much that a hedgehog would be jealous. "And _me,"_ a tiny voice escapes from the ball she's become, "how am I supposed to survive there? I could barely handle living in the Jewish quarters with all those people." Her eyes close at the memory, "it was unbearable – if I had to go back to something like that..." She shakes her head vigorously, "no, I couldn't do it. I _won't_ do it."

He drops to his knees in front of the bed before her, gently taking her hands in his. At that point, she peeks up at him, the tear tracks on her cheeks sending an ache deep in his heart. "Hey," he breathes out, voice barely audible. But in the small room she manages to catch it and looks expectantly toward him. "None of that is going to happen," Finn says. She drops her head again, sniffling."I promise you, Rachel – you're not going to get hurt, we'll keep you safe, me and my mom, I swear."

She's quiet for a few moments, but her sobs soon make a return. His chest tightens, mouth falling into a deep frown as he tries to comfort her. It doesn't work.

Finn climbs up onto the bed, his legs hanging lamely off the side, but that's not important as Rachel cries into her knees. She glances up at him when he sits beside her, and it only takes a quick gesture from Finn before she practically jumps into his arms. Rachel's never felt this small, so vulnerable. He sits and waits as she cries out the rest of the tears, hopefully ridding herself of those fears of being taken away. Though if he's being honest with himself, they're the same ones that haunt him, too.

Her chest heaves as she catches back her breath, finally reaching up a hand to wipe away the tears. "Sorry," she says lightly.

"Don't be," he assures her.

She manages a smile then, aimed towards him. Her arms slide completely around his chest, meeting on his other side as she snuggles further into him, eyes closing with contentment. He barely thinks anything of it as he gently places his lips to her hairline. She tilts her neck to stare up at him, those gorgeous pools of brown for Finn to lose himself in. And lose himself he does.

This close, her can see the small speckles of gold hiding within the chocolate color; his lips move from her forehead and make their way downwards, leaving a trail of kisses behind. He feels her hot breath against his lips, beckoning him forward. But he barely has to close the gap as Rachel leans that little bit closer, pressing her soft lips against his.

He should pull back, he knows he should. But he doesn't want to, not for _anything_. Her kiss is as soft as her, it's tentative, but somehow at the same time forceful. Finn can taste the saltiness of her tears as he kisses her, lifting a hand forward to cup her chin. Their lips part briefly, eyes meeting in a soft embrace. It's Finn who goes back for more, every movement slow and steady, though he can't help the way he smiles between each kiss. His fingers stretch out against her skin, the tips gently probing through her hair, the feeling causing Rachel to shiver in pleasure.

When they end the kiss, both pull back with equally shy expressions, that 'did we really just do that?' glisten in their eyes. Faces still close, the intimacy of the moment remains, more so as his thumb sweeps back and forth over the soft skin of her hand.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the door opens. He inwardly curses at their interruption, jerking himself away from Rachel as fast as possible. "Rach." Finn's eyes widen at the sound of Noah's voice, as do Rachel's. One glance to the girl and he sees her flushes face, her ruffled hair. Her brother slowly steps into the room, observing the pair with narrowed eyes; it's clear that they've been caught. "Dinner's ready," he says after a long beat, to which Rachel practically shoots up from the bed. Finn follows, more hesitantly, slowing when he notices Noah frozen by the door.

He shrinks under Noah's glower, despite the fact that he's now taller than the nineteen year old. Stretching out his arm, he blocks Finn's escape from the room, and then raises his brow expectantly.

"We didn't do anything," Finn lies, his voice extremely quiet.

"I'm not stupid, Finn," he scoffs. "And I know my sister. If you forced her into anything -"

"I didn't!"

Noah's eyes darken, "you better be telling the truth."

"I really care about her, why would I do anything to hurt her?"

He's about to speak again when Hiram calls Noah back into the main part of the attic. Before he goes, he manages to get in a quick. "Look, I like you Finn, but if you ever hurt Rachel, I won't hesitate to hurt you."

Gulping, he nods, and follows Noah out. While he takes a place at the table, Finn stands awkwardly at the side.

"Well, I'm going to go," he says before Hiram offers him something to eat, as though they've got food to spare. Rachel gives him a sweet smile, just like after they'd kissed, and he smiles back at her.

* * *

He only half listens as Kurt tells him what they need to buy, the list given by Carole who'd wrote it down after too many times of Finn forgetting have of it. Somehow he's ended up carrying the bulk of their purchased items, while Kurt only has the measly list.

That's not the worst part though; no, the most frustrating thing is that with Kurt's watchful eye on what they buy, they can't get much extra for Rachel and her family. What if Kurt noticed? The last thing they need is suspicion aimed their way.

"A sack of potatoes," he recites out, only for Finn to grumble.

"And I suppose I'll be carrying that as well?"

"I'm in charge of the list, Finn."

He rolls his eyes. He likes Kurt, he does, but there's only so much of him that he can take sometimes. And that limit is slowly diminishing with the more time that he's spending with the boy, seeing as him and Burt are coming over an awful lot for dinner these days. Not that he minds; it helps him take his mind off worrying over Rachel, and it is nice to see his mom this happy.

The only hard part is maintaining their secret.

Every creak, every small whisper – he picks them up in an instant, but he hopes and prays that no one else does. Because he's terrified they'll find out, petrified that Rachel will be taken away from him.

They enter the small shop together, Finn still lugging all of the other items while Kurt moves straight to the counter to ask for the potatoes. Blaine is there, as usual. Ever since his father and older brother were drafted to fight in the war, he's been taking charge of the shop alongside his mother. He knows that Kurt's relieved his dad never had to fight, but with a history of heart attacks he supposes that he was no use to the _SS_.

"Morning," Blaine chimes brightly, peering from Kurt to Finn and then back again.

Finn gives an nod in acknowledgement, nosily looking around while Kurt gets the potatoes. He stares at the different types of food, suddenly feeling hungry. When he sees the chocolate bars – the ones that Rachel loves – he doesn't hesitate in grabbing a few. There's a little money left and he can easily tell Kurt that they're for him.

As he nears the counter again, he watches Kurt and Blaine's exchange, eyebrows knotting together at the way they're staring at each other, eyes all soft and sweet. Then as Kurt hands over the money, their fingers linger for way longer than usual, and each smile at the small, intimate moment. Finn's eyes widen then, frown deepening. Is Kurt... is he...? No, he can't be. He continues watching the exchange, as the two oblivious boys continue chatting, all smiles and charm.

Finn, on the other hand, is reeling with this new revelation. Come to think of it, Kurt's never shown any interest in girls, always scoffing at Finn's "boyish obsession with the opposite sex", but like, every other guy acts the same about women. Except Kurt.

"You ready?" he asks when he manages to find his voice again.

Kurt jumps at the sound of Finn's voice, his posture quickly stiffening. "Blaine was just getting the potatoes for me," he insists, but Finn knows otherwise. If he hadn't interjected, they'd most likely still be staring at each other.

Giving an uneasy smile, he waits for Blaine to return with the sack of potatoes and easily lifts it under his arm. He doesn't miss the look of longing worn by both Kurt and Blaine as they leave the store, and he wonders if he should mention something to Kurt. Finn bites his lip, knowing that he could easily freak out if he just _accused_ him of being queer. And he really doesn't want to ruin things with Kurt. While they're not exactly the closest, they could end up being brothers one day and this isn't exactly the best way to start a relationship.

So he stays quiet, teeth chewing on her lower lip to trap all words inside.

Kurt's silent too, almost pensive. He keeps throwing glances over to Finn.

But all Finn can think of is that it's actually relieving to not be the only one with a huge secret.

* * *

He's woken by a scream, a shrill noise echoing through the house. In his hazy stupor, it takes him a moment to place the familiar sound with Rachel who should be sleeping just above him. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, mumbling incoherent words to himself as he tries to figure out why she's screaming.

Movement sounds from his mother's room, and suddenly he's scared. On his feet in an instant, he pads out into the hallway, blinking as the light is switched on. "Mom?" he calls out when he spies her figure turning around the corner.

"Finn," she breathes out, "what are you doing up?"

"I heard, uh -" The way her expression falls makes it clear that she knows the scream woke him up too, and so he stops talking. She gives him a sad smile, but continues on her walk to the secret door, checking that it hasn't been opened. It hasn't. The lock is still in tact, keeping them safely in the attic, but then why did Rachel scream?

All he wants to do is go up there and holds her in his arms until she feels safe, comforted.

It must read all over his face because Carole steps forward, hand coming to touch his forearm. "Go back to bed, honey. They're fine, they're safe – she was probably just spooked. You used to hate the attic at night when you were younger." She tries to smile, but the act is so forced that it's more of a grimace.

"But if she's scared then there's all the more reason to -"

"Finn," she silences him, "I know you care, but you've just got to let them be. At least for now. Anyone could hear while it's so quiet." Carole caresses his face for a moment, staring at him fondly, "now go back to sleep."

He does. Or, at least, he tries to.

Every time he closes his eyes, he relives her screams. The urge to protect her is overwhelming, yet he can't act on it. He can only sit in his bedroom and wait for time to pass.

* * *

He isn't quite sure how it happens, or how it all started, but suddenly when he goes to the attic he's not just spending time with Rachel, but Noah too. Rachel says it's because her brother's lonely, he just won't admit it.

Noah likes to play cards. It does help to kill time, and they've got a _lot_ of time to kill up there. So he plays them with the boy, who pretty much always wins, but sometimes Finn does too. Rachel wins more than him, though he's almost convinced that Noah lets her win.

It's late this night, and he'd only gone up to bring some new books for Rachel, but he'd ended up talking to Noah, sat on the small couch with him and just him – Hiram and Rachel had long ago gone to sleep. "You know," Noah begins, "you're not as bad as I used to think you were."

He deflates a little, "you used to think I was bad?"

"You're German, of course I did," he says tersely.

"Oh," he bows his head, "Rachel never thought I was like that."

Noah's voice becomes unusually soft, "well, she sees the good in people. She always has, ever since we were kids." Then his dark eyes grow sad, "I always wished that I could be as optimistic as her, but it's so hard." He gives a sharp sigh, while Finn just watches the emotions play out on his face. He doesn't know what to say, what could possible make the boy feel better, so he doesn't say anything.

"She wasn't – she didn't see..." He trails off then, shaking his head, "hmmm."

"She didn't see what?"

He's noticeably tense, jaw stiff as he gets out, "did Rachel ever tell you what happened to our mom?"

Finn nods slowly, "she told me that she died when you were young." He remembers that conversation well, because the image of Rachel crying like that is one that he's struggled to throw out of his mind. At the time, he hadn't pried, for fear that her tears wouldn't stop, but now that Noah's mentioned it, he can feel his curiosity piquing. "How did – um, how did it happen?"

He's quiet for what feels like forever, his eyes unfocused as they're aimed toward the floor, not at Finn. Finn, who patiently waits with a look of sympathy sewn onto his features. The younger boy almost speaks, tells him that it's okay if he doesn't want to say, but a larger part of him wants to know the story, especially if Noah is willing to give it to him. Months ago and he'd barely give him the time of day.

Then, finally, Noah speaks. "I was ten – when it happened. We were just out for a walk. She always loved to do that. I mean, I hated it, but she let me take my football so I didn't complain." He takes in a deep breath, clearly holding onto whatever control he has, "this one night, it was pretty late, and I was being stupid with the ball – kicking it at people's houses. She told me not to. I just didn't listen." Regret drowns his words then, his head turning away from Finn.

"Neither of us noticed the soldiers, but they saw us. They started yelling, they were so angry, and they grabbed me," his hands subconsciously tug on his jacket, "and started shaking me. My mom screamed at them to stop and they did. I thought it was over." Noah then speaks in a whisper, "they just turned their attention to her. And it was weird, they're weren't angry then – they just kept laughing at her."

His teeth clench together, "they kept on laughing when the first one hit her, then another. They pushed her to the ground, and she was crying, but that didn't stop them. It only made them laugh more. They were kicking and hitting, some of them using their guns to do it. All I could do was stand there – I should have stopped them. I should have..."

"They wouldn't have listened to you," Finn says honestly, his voice a little choked up. He's seen the brutality that some of these men possess and a ten year old wouldn't thaw through the ice to their heart. Nothing could have helped.

"I should've tried." He sighs, defeated.

More silence follows, the room suddenly feeling much smaller and compact than it already is. Finn searches for the words to say, to console Noah, but he's not Rachel, he doesn't want to be held and assured that everything is okay. He summons the words and pushes them out, "then what happened?" He thinks he already knows the answer, but hearing it from Noah will be confirmation.

"What do you think? I ran home, got my Pa. He told me to stay with Rachel while he went to get her. When he brought her back... it was too late – he couldn't save her."

"I'm... really sorry," Finn says honestly, "I can't even imagine what that must have been like." He takes a thankful moment knowing that his own mother is safe downstairs.

"I've had a long time to think about it," Noah shrugs, "a real long time." He moves to wipe his eyes, pushing back tears that Finn didn't even notice there, "and sometimes I think it was actually for the best, you know? She'd hate having to live here, not able to go outside, to do _anything_. She was so restless, like Rachel is." Finn allows himself to smile then; that she is.

"I know, but I'm still sorry."

Noah nods, his expression appreciative, "I know you are. I just, I wanted you to know that so that you know when we first met, it's not that I didn't like you. It's just – you're a German, and after what happened to my mom..."

His face is grim, and he gives a slight incline of his head to show he understands; he wouldn't trust anyone either.

"But you're not so bad," he states again, this time the hint of a smile joining his words. "Actually, you're a pretty decent guy." Noah gives pause then, but it's clear that he has more to say, "and if we ever... get out of this alive, and you and Rach want to be together, then that's fine with me."

He takes a deep breath then, the idea that one day he and Rachel could have a serious relationship without being in this awful situation bringing a warmth to his heart, a smile to his lips. Noah notices this instantly. Finn nods gratefully, a hand reaching out to clamp over Noah's shoulder, "thank you. That – it means a lot."

"Well, I owe you a lot," Noah confesses, almost shyly, "I hate admitting that, but without you and Carole..." He trails off then, the reality all a little too much to say. "You didn't have to let us stay here."

"I honestly wouldn't have it any other way," he says quietly, candidly. Because he wouldn't. Any reality where he doesn't know Rachel and her family just seems wrong.

* * *

He lets out a huff of boredom as he helps his mom cut up the vegetables for dinner, his eyes continually drifting to watch her as she expertly slices. His own cuts all look misshapen, to which he only gives his mom a sheepish smile and places them with hers in the pot.

Just as she's checking the chicken, he hears the doorbell go. The shrill noise makes him jump at first, before exchanging a glance with his mom. It's not Burt, because he usually just lets himself in by now, and they're certainly not expecting anyone else. Carole gives him a smile, which sets an uneasy feeling inside his gut, and heads into the hallway toward the door.

Finn cringes as he hears "_hail_",meaning that it's more likely an official at the door. His eyes briefly shoot upwards toward the ceiling, toward the attic. His heart beats that little bit faster, palms sweating. It only worsens as he hears his name called.

He follows the sound of voices into the hall, finding his mother and a man stood in the small hallway. Finn shifts as there are suddenly two pairs of eyes on him, the most intense from the man, who from his uniform he assumes to be an officer. As he nears, his eyes take hold of the man, who he recognizes as Jesse St James, a _SS-Oberführer;_ the badges on his sleeve and collar confirm this. He immediately straightens in his presence, saluting as standard, though it's strange how he's so intimidated by someone that he's a good few inches taller than.

Jesse doesn't wait for any pleasantries, straight to the point. "Your mother says that you can help me," he pulls off his driving gloves slowly, clutching them in one hand, "my car is broken and I can't seem to find the problem."

"Okay," he nods, nervously gulping. "I can probably fix it." He's thankful that Burt lets him help out in the car shop during his spare time, allowing him to be useful. Not to mention that he wants to get this man out of his home as soon as possible.

He follows Jesse outside, where the sun is setting in the sky, the street aflutter with people going home for the night. Instantly his eyes lock onto the Volkswagen with the hood propped up, revealing the engine. As he sets to work, checking every inch of the metal work and the gas generator for the fault, he notices Jesse light a cigarette from the corner of his eyes. The man takes a long drag, blowing out a puff of smoke from his lips.

Finn shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to focus on his task. Jesse stands with his head tall, a narcissistic air to him. He moves to stand right beside Finn, shadow looming over the boy. "How long do you think this will take?" he snipes, impatience dominating his tone.

He holds in a glare of annoyance, instead shrugging. "I still haven't found the problem," he says honestly.

A sigh follows that, Jesse peering back to the house while Finn accidentally wipes some grease on his nose. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to wait inside until you know what's wrong with the damned thing." His eyes widen, head silently shaking. Inside, he chants no over and over, not wanting Jesse anywhere near the house, because that means he's near Rachel. That fact scares Finn to death.

But he has to swallow his fears.

He's forced to give a solemn nod of the head, hoping that his mom will keep Jesse distracted enough in time for him to fix whatever problem there is with the engine and send him on his merry way. Jesse quickly takes refuge from the cold, while Finn continuously stares to the door. He can't control his frantic heart, glad that the ribcage is there to bar it in place.

His work is slow and clumsy, but that's only because it's usurped by his ever growing fear. Every second that passes is painful, while he just wills himself to fix the car and get back inside.

Eventually, he does, but by then the orange sky is already blackening, each window in the street illuminated with light. Just like his. He goes inside, cleaning his greasy, black hands and moving to the living room where his mom is uncomfortably sat in her chair, making small conversation with the officer.

He clears his throat, gaining the attention of the pair. "It's all up and running," he tries to be as casual as possible, "it took a while, but now there's nothing to worry about." Finn gives a weary smile, still dabbing at his hands with the cloth.

Jesse stands, returning his cap slowly to his head, "thank you for your help," he then looks to Carole, "and your hospitality." His voice betrays the words, sounding cold and reserved rather than grateful.

It takes barely any time at all before they're watching him drive away, both letting out their held breath. Just as Finn's turning to his mom, he finds a panic stricken face staring boldly back at him. His eyes fill with questions, which she's quick to answer. "There was a noise."

He frowns, "a _noise_? What do you mean, 'a noise'?"

"We were sat in here," she breathes, her hand clutching over her heart, "and we were talking, but then there was a bang. I don't know what or how, but I just about heard it. And I'm sure he did. He didn't say anything – he just sort of stopped talking and looked upwards." His pulse bangs away in his head, blood turning into ice. "Finn," she breathes out, clear panic in her tone. It completely freaks him out; he's never seen his mom so petrified before, fear sewn into her expression. "What are we going to do?"

Finn grounds her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Mom, just – just calm down, okay?" His voice is pained, "we don't know if he knows for sure, so there's no point in worrying over it. What did you tell him afterwards?"

She doesn't look him in the eye, "I told him that we had a cat, that's it's always knocking things over – but I was so panicked, he could probably see right through me."

"No, that's okay," He hugs her, he doesn't know what else to do. But she seems to calm considerably the longer the embrace lasts.

"I'm sorry," she says when she finally pulls away, "I normally keep myself together, especially in front of you. I just – I don't care what they're do to me, but to you..." Carole stares to him with watery eyes, "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you, Finn."

"Mom, nothing is going to happen," he assures her.

Her expression says different, but she keeps her tears bottled up. Ever since he was younger, she tried her best not to cry in front of him, and if he's being honest he doesn't want to see her in tears either. Instead, she says in a quiet voice, "let's go finish up dinner, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

Her kisses are sweet like honey, ones that he could easily become addicted to.

But it's hard, with Noah and her father always so close. Privacy isn't always a luxury that they have.

That afternoon though, the whole attic feels still, as her family are quiet in the main living area, while the two of them are huddled close on her bed. His large frame almost drowns her, Finn steadying his weight with his forearms as they kiss with passion, gladly accepting the moments alone. He goes to move his hand accidentally brushing against her breast. And he expects her to flinch, to at least give pause, but she continues as though it'd been any other body part.

Finn's eyes grow then, curiosity deep within.

She pulls back, smiling at his expression. "It's okay," she laughs, her fingers grazing over his, "I trust you." The words are uttered so softly that he barely catches them. They instil him with pride, his face brightening, and with tentative movements he reaches his hand up and squeezes the small mound over the dress, exploring every inch available. The soft moan that follows sends a jolt right between his legs, Finn swallowing hard.

Rachel only kisses him again, relaxing under his ministrations. While his fingers continue to probe, he feels himself grow hard, especially as Rachel makes noises of encouragement.

The blissful moment is burst when they hear Hiram's voice, instantly cutting the arousal from their systems. Finn lets out a huff, though can't help but catch the fond smile that Rachel sends him.

* * *

"I keep having nightmares," Rachel confesses to him after a good hour of probing to the reason for her bad mood.

The nightmares. Well, that's obvious, especially from the heavy bags under her eyes. Still, the constant sombre atmosphere following him around these days is starting to get on his nerves. The feeling of helplessness is just so overwhelming that all he wants to do is scream into his pillow every night and hope that when he wakes up there's no war, no fighting, and no fear.

Today, he holds in his sigh and drops down next to her. Immediately, she seeks comfort from him, shifting so she's lay comfortably against his large frame. He can't help smiling then, but gravity pulls him back down to the conversation at hand. "What do you have nightmares about?"

"Everything," she mumbles, head ducked. Her finger play with her dress, anything to keep her from looking at him, "but mostly it's the same one."

She ends it there, unusually quiet.

He squeezes her tiny body, "Rach?"

It's barely a prompt to speak, but she takes it. Her voice quakes uncontrollably with each word. "Every time, I can hear footsteps and then gunshots. Then they kick down the door, come in here. They k-k-kill Noah and Papa, but they take me." She lets out a noise close to a squeak, a few stray tears rolling down her cheeks, "they drag me downstairs, where I – when I go there you – you're, _oh god_."

"Hey," he shushes her, kissing the top of her head randomly, "it's okay. You don't have to say."

She shakes her head, insistent to get the words out. "When I look, t-they've shot you, and your mother, and you're just... you're so still on the floor. But I know – I can see the blood." Her hand rises to roughly wipe at the tears, "that's when I wake up and I feel like my heart is seizing, and I have to check on everyone, to make sure that they're fine." A strangled sob escapes her throat, "I can never check on you. I never know. And I hate it."

Finn gently rocks her until the cries subside, his presence alone assuring her that he's alright, he's safe.

Eventually, she does still, remaining in silence though. He fills it with his own words, though they're not the cheery ones that they both need. "Why do people keep worrying about me? It's you who I should be scared for. I'm just – I'm not -"

"It's because we love you," she cuts across, finally staring up at him. Her eyes are wide, doe-like, and oh so beautiful, even with the tear tracks below them.

His breath hitches at her confession, a proud smile growing on his lips. He kisses her, catching her slightly off guard, before she sinks into the kiss, lip moulding against his. It's just right, something to lift him high above his demons which are constantly dragging him down.

As she pulls away, he mumbles, "I love you too," against her soft lips.

* * *

It's the longest wait of his life until her birthday. He helps his mom bake a small vanilla cake, and he finds the prettiest wrapping paper, using it for the small jewellery box. It'd taken all his money to buy the necklace, and he'd even done extra chores and jobs for neighbors, but it's all been worth it.

Seeing her truly happy, when he's used to the sombre atmosphere from the occupants in the attic, brings a warmth to his heart. She hugs him tighter than ever when she sees the cake. She doesn't let go, even as they all sing happy birthday to her.

After that, he gently takes her hand and leads her to a more private area, which really proves difficult within the small attic. Noah's in their room, and his mom and Hiram are stood by the table, so he takes her into a small alcove, the pair sitting on some old boxes, flimsy cushions between them to add a tiny amount of comfort.

"Why do we have to be alone for this?" she asks curiously, a small glint in her eyes. For a moment, she glances toward her father and Carole, then her gaze returns to Finn.

"Because, I just wanted the moment to be special. Between the two of us."

She smiles then, though there's still a hint of uncertain. It's no secret that Noah knows about their progressing relationship, especially since he'd sat down Rachel and given her a hour long talk on being careful and taking care of herself. She'd just shrugged it off, saying he's always been like that, but Noah's threat remains present in the back of Finn's mind, not that he'd ever want to hurt Rachel anyway. He jitters on his makeshift seat, hand reaching into his jacket pocket while Rachel watches with interest. "Why are you so nervous?"

"Well, um, it's your birthday, and I really wanted to get you something -"

"Finn," she stops him, her tone suddenly serious. She looks torn, "you didn't have to get me anything."

"But I wanted to." He's completely sincere, whisky eyes intent on her.

She knows by now that once he's set his mind to something it's going to happen. So she gently bites her lower lip and nods. Finn smiles then, revealing the small box. Her eyes widen then, both with surprise and intrigue, and he pushes the box forward into her unresisting hands.

Rachel breathes out his name, so softly that his heart skips a few beats. "Open it," he tells her, his tongue nervously darting out of his mouth for a second.

As she does, her eyes widen delightfully once more, the smile creeping onto her full lips. "Oh, Finn." She pulls out the silver locket, admiring it in the limited light of the room, "it's beautiful."

"Well yeah, it made me think of you," he admits, then reaches forward to take it from her. The locket is shaped like a heart, and he opens it with ease, "it opens so you can put a photograph in there, or whatever you want. And well, you really deserve something like this. Something pretty like you."

He can actually hear her breath hitch. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world."

She looks like she wants to dive forward and jump into his arms at that moment, but their parents are still in the room. So she settles on the brightest smile she has, thanking Finn with tears in her voice. He really hopes that they're the good tears as well. When she asks him to help her put it on, Finn happily agrees and leans forward to aid her. As he fixes the clasp, he steals a chaste kiss from her, whispering, "happy birthday," to the girl who's clearly over the moon. The smile on her lips is all kinds of new, but certainly welcome. He only wishes she'd smile that big all the time.

* * *

When his mom and Burt announce their engagement, it doesn't really come as a shock to anyone. It's a relief to see her excited about something, and not constantly worried about sneaking in food and supplies for the three people they're hiding, while keeping their presence unknown. It's stressful for him, so God knows that it's even more so for her.

Needless to say, as they pack their bags and get ready to spend a couple of nights at Burt and Kurt's home, he's really happy for her. But that happiness is equal to fear.

They've never left Hiram, Rachel and Noah alone like this. Not for more than a few hours. His mind is plagued with thoughts of every and any possible emergency, and his restlessness and worry doesn't go unnoticed, especially since this is supposed to be a happy time. Supposed to be. His mom is happy – he can clearly see that. But he also sees the same worry in her eyes that are surely swimming in his.

She has them on her mind, too.

But they can't talk about it. That's just not an option. Unless, of course, they've double checked that they're entirely alone and without any chance of eavesdropping, but with all the people fluttering about it's difficult. Their "conversations" are cut to brief eye contact and a few spare minutes here and there. Usually he confides his worries in Rachel, but without her there everything is bottled up, fighting for space in his already cramped head.

He really wishes she could be there with him.

The second night in the Hummel house, he overhears a conversation between Burt and his mother, about where they'd live after the wedding. Fear had seized his heart at a sudden realization. The very one that includes Rachel and her family, who Burt has no idea are hidden away in his home.

Surely they can't risk telling him. Trust is a rare thing these days, and he's not all that sure how Burt would react. If he did so badly then he could tell the law enforcement about them, have them taken away. Finn immediately places a hand over his stomach at that, sickness swirling around inside.

He's sat alone and silent in the spare room when Kurt finds him, moving to sit on the bed. "I thought you were happy about he engagement – why do you look so troubled?"

"It's not that," he shakes his head, tone low and empty, "it's – I can't talk about it."

"Didn't know you were so cryptic, Finn Hudson," he gives a small, nervous laugh.

When Finn doesn't respond, a tense air surrounds them.

"I'm a pretty good listener, you know," Kurt tries again, "go on, just tell me and I'm sure you'll feel better." His insistence is more amusing than annoying for a second, until the brief smile drops from Finn's lips

"I don't think so."

Kurt huffs then, on the verge of giving up. "It's just I hate to see you looking so gloomy. You know that talking about your problems in the most productive way to solve them, right?"

He gives a sad smile, "actually, in this case, it's the exact opposite."

"Oh," Kurt's eyes widen, his thirst for whatever is going on in Finn's head growing. "Really?"

Seeing this, Finn clamps his mouth closed. He stands, throwing his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to go for a walk. Tell my mom that I'll be back soon, okay?"

* * *

After a whole day of Finn avoiding people like the plague, getting swallowed by the mass of thoughts and worry in his head, his mother corners him. It's just after dinner, where he's settled on the couch by himself, his face vacant.

Carole slowly lowers herself beside him, reaching for his hand. He doesn't react much, only tilting his head so that they're facing each other more comfortably. "We need to talk." The sentence has him sat erect, peering to her with curiosity.

"If it's about the engagement then -"

"It's not the engagement," she cuts him short, to Finn's surprise. His interest suddenly sky-rockets, his mind searching for the subject that he's talking about, but his heart already seems to have placed one. What the conversation could possibly entail has him feeling winded, scared. Carole notices this, squeezing his hand. "We're – we're not going back home, Finn."

His eyes widen. "_What_?" The volume of his outburst surprised even himself, "mom, you _can't_." His voice moves into a scarily low tone. "You can't do this to them; we can't abandon them."

"Shhh, Finn, shh – just calm down."

"You want to just leave them there to fend for themselves?" Finn's expression shows pure outrage.

"No, no; of course not." Carole gives him a serious look, "I could never do that to them Finn. I care deeply for each one of them, just like you." She reaches forward, placing a hand on either shoulder to steady him, "but this engagement, it's going to change things. And I know you don't want change like this. I know that it's scary, but you're going to have to trust me."

The way she speaks implies of something further, and his brows knit together in confusion. Eventually, he speaks. "Trust you about what? What's going on?"

Her grip grows tighter, almost painful. "Burt knows about them."

All the air flies from his lungs in one big _whoosh_, leaving him struggling to get it back. He chokes on his own protests, loud coughs erupting from him. The shock continues when he does manage to speak, his sentences incoherent. Once again, she has to calm him, soothing her son into silence.

Eventually, he relents.

"I couldn't keep it a secret from him any longer," she explains herself, voice pleading for him to understand, "we're getting married, and sooner or later he'd find out. I had to to trust my heart and tell him. He was shocked beyond belief, but he wants to help us, help _them_."

Finn is still reeling from finding out that Burt knows, so he stares to her with wide eyes, not quite able to believe what she's saying. "He what?"

Carole dares a smile, "he wants to _help_." Her her hands slowly moves, cupping his chin and bringing his gaze to meet hers.

"Bu -but... what does that mean?"

"It means," she gulps, now cautious is her words, "we're not going to be staying here for very much longer. Burt – he said... there are safer places, places that are accepting Jewish refugees. And he has family in France, they'll take us in until we get back on our feet. The important thing is that they'd be safe, they wouldn't have to hide like they do here."

The words echo around his mind, one big mess that makes his head hurt. They're going to move – no, they're going to _run away_... with Rachel and her family in tow?

His breath is suddenly shaky, his mind woozy, and his whole body utterly _terrified_.

"France?" he squeaks out, "t-that'd be days away if we were trying to keep them hidden. And if someone caught us..." He doesn't even want to think about that possibility, "mom, we can't."

"Finn, what other option do we have? Who knows when this war will end? It's not fair to them to have to live in that attic until that happens, and what if Hitler wins? What if their kind are killed and persecuted all over Europe? We need to get them out of here before it's too late – we have to give them some sort of life to live."

He's silent then, reluctantly mulling over her words. She's right, of course she is. That doesn't mean that he's any less scared.

Finn feels himself nod, accepting his fate with a brave face but inside his heart racing. "Okay, so how are we going to do this?"

* * *

His eyes exchange a glance with his mom's, nervously waiting to execute to long plan of getting Rache, Noah and Hiram out of the house safely, and without being seen. The moon is hung in the sky, stars dotted about. For a moment, he smiles up at the brightest one, immediately thinking of Rachel. But suddenly he hears his mom gasp, inching forward in his seat to see the reason. As he detects it, his own mouth fall open in shock. The car slows in front of their house on the quiet street, all three sets of eyes suddenly intent on the front door, or what's left of it. His heart sinks to his stomach as he sees the knocked over wood, immediately rushing to get out of the car.

Carole steps out too, reaching a hand forward to slow him down. She wants to go in first. Both step forward in hesitant silence to their home; Finn's eyes dart around nervously. Something is clearly wrong, and he's scared for the pair of them. But not just them... his heart thumps rhythmically in his chest as he realizes what this probably means, what a busted up doors implies at.

It doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

In a sombre pace, they cross the threshold into their house – their _home_. There's a trail of debris leading up the stairs, accompanied by knocked over pictures and ornaments. Even in the dark, the chaos is evident.

All he can hear is his own pulse as he heads upstairs alongside his mom, eyes drawn to the mess heading higher and higher in the house. His mouth runs painfully dry, heart palpating as all the clues point to one thing only. And he feels like he's going to be _sick._

The door to the attic is no longer there, either. This isn't happening. This is _not_ happening.

But the pounding in his head obnoxiously reminds him that it is, and that he should be very, _very_ scared. His mom swallows her fears, looking into the room – the one that'd homed Rachel's family for over a year – and her breath hitches tight in her throat as she sees the state of it. Finn can't not look, bile burning at the back of his throat when he sees the mess. Everything overthrown, broken. This can't be real.

A sob shudders from his lips as he surveys the attic, even more so when he notes blood on the steps beneath his feet where it hadn't been before. "No," he chokes out, "no, mom – they can't... where are they?"

"Finn," she calls out, voice so utterly broken that he can't think straight.

He dives further into the room, angrily kicking one of the wooden chairs to the side. "They've got to be here," he insists, "please, tell me that they're here." His voice cracks with tears, but before she even has a chance to muster a response the anger surges within him once again. His arms are under some other control, turning everything over, "_**where are they?**_" He doesn't want to scream; he just wants them back. He wants Rachel safe with him and not... not...

Finn sinks to the ground as sobs wrack his body. She's not there, she's not in that horrible place.

But he _knows_ that she is, and the look on his mom's face says that she is.

Through his tears, he catches sight of something shining beneath the mess surrounding them. His hand shakily reaches out to clasp around the small piece of jewellery, the one he instantly recognizes as the gift he's bought her. Fresh tears are summoned just by holding it, his heard feeling as though it's going to fall out of place.

It's no longer than a few minutes that they stand there in the attic, before his mom breaks through her evident pain, to tell him to pack and insisting that they leave, but Finn sits numbly on the floor as his world crashes down around him.

Even as they scurry at the house with tear tracks stained to their cheeks and hollow expressions, he doesn't think he'll ever be the same again. Not without her.

"They'll be looking for us," Carole's pained voice is the only thing he hears, "they probably are. Oh god, what are we going to do? What's going to happen?" Her questions circle around his head until like a whirlpool, and the feeling is nausea overwhelms him. He doesn't care about getting caught for hiding Jews, about what'll happen to them then. Right now he doesn't care much about anything.

* * *

He feels like he's drifting.

Like, he knows that he's alive, but then as though he's not actually _living_. Instead, he feels as though he's just spectating life, watching it pass by. A part of him is perfectly fine with that. The other, though it pains him to even think about her, knows that Rachel would recoil at the very idea of him giving up so easily.

All he wants is to see her again, to touch her, to hear her sweet voice.

But they've taken her away from him, just like they'd feared. He realizes with a stab of heartbreak that they took her away like in her nightmares. Only he wasn't hurt this time. Physically, anyway.

His mind cruelly asks itself where they've taken her, which camp. Or worse, if she's even still alive.

Days pass by, turning into long, gruelling weeks. And he's saddened to realize the phrase 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' is all too true. The winter is harsh, wicked winds and freezing nights, and he's prays for her every chance he gets.

When he prays, he clutches the Rachel's locket in his large hands, completely covering the thing chain. The small piece of jewellery somehow makes him feel closer to her, because she's held it – her delicate neck has worn it, and when he looks against the shiny metal, he can see her beautiful smile.

That's how his mother finds him in his room one night. Eyes scrunched shut, kneeling at the side of the bed. She gently calls his name, catching his attention. Finn jumps at the sound of her voice and cranes his neck to look up at her.

As usual, she wears that sympathetic smile, the one that he's grown to resent. Seeing it, he frowns deeper than ever, reluctantly pushing himself from the floor. "How are you doing?" she asks. That dreaded question. How on Earth is he supposed to explain to her how he feels when he can't even understand it himself?

His head hangs low, weighed down by all those nasty and cruel thoughts swimming about his mind. "I don't know," he mumbles, "I just... I want her back, mom."

Carole's eyes grow watery at his confession, not that he sees, and she doesn't point out to him that he said 'her' rather than 'them.' Instead, she pulls his unresisting body against hers. "I know," she whispers, though it's barely heard as he begins to cry.

All that he's been taught at school screams to his that crying is for the weak, for those controlled by their emotions, but he can't help the onslaught of tears. He's lost his best friend, the one person that brought sunlight in his ever dark world.

Most of all he'd loved her, much more than he thought he could anybody. He'd held her and kissed her, and he'd loved her with all he had.

Now that she's gone what does he do with that love? It calls out for her, missing her. It aches for her presence, but he knows it's never going to be satisfied. Not unless he finds her again. Even Finn knows the possibility of that happening is slim to none.

He continues to cry in his mother's arms, until eventually there are no tears left. Just words of regret, what ifs haunting his mind. Carole confesses to those too, wondering if they'd returned home sooner would it be different. He tells himself no, for his own sake. But at the same time he doesn't quite believe it.

* * *

They still plan to leave, to go to Burt's family in the south of France. As soon as possible. Though the search for him and Carole has certainly died down, they're constantly aware that they won't just give up. They were harboring Jews, and under the _Third Reich_, they ought to be punished.

His mom helps him with most of his packing. Not that he has much left – in their haste to leave the house they'd just grabbed what they could and left. For a moment, he thinks of the house he grew up in, the one filled with memories of his childhood, of Rachel, too. As it dawns on him that he may never see it again, it's like a blow to his chest, and he has to pause to regain his breath.

Carole notices, hugging him lightly while kissing his forehead. "We've still got each other," she insists, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Finn nods; that's true. And he's thankful, because he'd be completely lost without his mom, more so than he is now.

"I love you, mom." He tells her. He _has_ to.

He never had a chance to say it to Rachel one last time.

She gives a real smile then, returning the sentiment.

* * *

They leave at night, the car stuffed with whatever they have left, him and Kurt sandwiched in between all the luggage. He's tired, but it's difficult to sleep with his heart beating away steadily in his chest.

Kurt talks, trying to keep their minds elsewhere, but all are fretting over what'll happen as they reach the borders. Burt manages to acquire them fake documents. Just to be entirely safe. Who knows how long they'll be pursued for.

When they do near the German - Poland border, he watches as the officer checks over the documents with baited breath, his eyes moving down just as Burt reaches out to gently take Carole's hand.

They get through without a hitch, all sharing a sigh of relief as they drive away. Finn turns in his seat, watching as the only country he knew disappears against the horizon, and as the car pulls him further away from wherever Rachel is.

It takes nearly a full day's drive to get to Burt's family. They speak in thick French, and Finn watches with a dumb expression as Kurt quickly and eloquently returns the French. He doesn't like it here already. It's weird, it smells different, and he just want to go home.

* * *

He starts to sleep less, because when he does he can only see her. Her beautiful face and those big chocolate eyes, but he can't bring himself to look at her, because she's always so sad, so tired. In those dreams, she's dying.

And every time he has one, he feels like a little bit of him dies as well.

* * *

The weeks of winter slowly melt away into a warm spring, the land that they're staying on blooming with beautiful flowers and gardens. Just in time for Burt and his mom to get married.

He gets to walk her down the aisle, beaming proudly to entire time, before standing next to Kurt. As the ceremony finishes, announcing them husband and wife, he and Kurt share a look, too. A smile to start out their new siblings status.

And afterwards there's dancing and laughing and smiling.

It's beautiful.

But it's bittersweet.

He sits on the porch at the front of the house, while the party takes full swing at the back. From where he is, he can listen to it, but he doesn't actually have to participate – a good compromise. It's a surprise when he spies Kurt walking toward him, his face more serious than ever.

"Everything alright?" he asks with a wry smile.

"Of course it is," Kurt nods, sitting beside him, "my dad got married again. He's happy." After a few beats, he adds, "I'm happy."

Finn notes the way his shoulders slump, raising an eyebrow, "you sure about that?"

Lifting his head, Kurt appears to have an internal debate, biting his lips to hold the words in. They force their way out anyway, "I saw you, before – you were watching dad and Carole, and you looked so sad... you were thinking of Rachel, weren't you?"

He snaps his gaze away, face scrunching up. It's easier these days, her not being around. It doesn't hurt any less and he misses her just as much, but he's just used to feeling like this. It's strange if he doesn't. Still, hearing someone else mention her is different, strange. A reminder that other people knew her, it wasn't all just in his head as these days he feels so.

Kurt calls his name, in a strained way that he hates and forces him to look to his new brother. "It's okay if you were, you know. You cared for her very deeply -"

"Please stop talking about her," he says; he doesn't need to be reminded of his feelings. They haven't lessened over time. And Kurt, he doesn't know anything about them. He wasn't there; he didn't know her. Finn really doesn't need advice from him.

He continues regardless. "Love is a special thing, and I -"

"She's dead," Finn says, firm and simple. "They either shot her or worse – took her to one of those... _places_ in order to have an even slower and more painful death. And I don't want to think about that, so please stop talking about her."

Flinching at the tone of his voice, Kurt hesitates. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he mumbles.

It takes a few minutes for Kurt to leave then, his face regretful as he does, while Finn still burns with anger at his own twisted thoughts. He hadn't meant to say those things, especially so harshly, but he couldn't let Kurt know exactly what he'd been thinking about when he'd observed the Newlyweds. How he'd imagined Rachel In the long white gown, the two of them dancing against a fading sunset.

It may have never been in their fate to have that, but realizing such a thing brought a fresh batch of tears to his eyes. And now they return with a vengeance. Wiping them away, he stares up to the stars, the same ones that Rachel would stare to from the tiny window in their attic, and he wishes more than anything that he could see her at least one more time.

* * *

Burt manages to set up another mechanic shop near their new house, Finn eagerly taking place as an apprentice in his work. He's grateful for the distraction from Rachel, from the war still raging on.

With a steady income, it's not long before they buy a home for the four of them, still close to Burt's relatives, but enough for their own space. His room is a little smaller than his old one, but it's definitely better than sharing with Kurt. He's great and everything, but the lack of privacy was starting to grate on him.

He ignores the bright sun flooding into the room as he unpacks the few belongings he has. It's only one measly case worth of clothes and items, the newest one including a photograph of him, his mom, Burt and Kurt on their wedding day. He notes how the smile he wears is only half hearted, as usual these days.

The photograph is still worth admiring. Though he's lost Rachel, he's gained two new family members in her case, and while they'll never live up to her, they really have improved his life.

For one, they're not in Poland any more, the streets constantly feeling watched. Here, the Italian forces have control, but not dictating their lives. The liberation is definitely welcome; he doesn't have to think over everything before he says it in fear of offending the wrong person.

A soft smile on his lips, he places the photograph on his night stand, taking pride and place in the middle, while he continues to empty his clothes. He haphazardly folds them and shoves them into the drawers, wanting to be over with that part. His mom'll probably refold them all for him anyway. Just as he's pushing the drawer closed, something shiny catches his attention at the bottom of his case, something that he instantly recognizes.

It's mere seconds before he has the locket in his hands. It always looks so small in his large, clumsy fingers, not like when it'd been held by Rachel, delicate in every way. Finn sighs, relieved when no tears come this time. The lump crawling up his throat is usual, but he swallows it thickly and places the the locket next to the photograph. His eyes drift out to the picturesque landscape just outside his window, a bittersweet smile following. "You would've loved it here," he says aloud, talking to the locket as though it were her. He waits. For what, he doesn't know. Maybe an irrational part of him thinks he'll get an answer, but it's only silly hopes.

* * *

The Germans surrender on May 7th 1945, a few days before his birthday.

That night, the four of them crowd around the radio, his mom and Burt continuously sharing glances, as the news is shared. Relief settles in the room. The celebration is quiet, humble – all not quite believing that there'll be an end to this war that has lasted what feels like a life time.

Despite the happiness in the air, there's still a sense of the unknown. What now? What do they possibly do now? There's no going back, they make that clear. Returning to their previous homes would be riddled with too many memories, and Finn knows that any reminders of Rachel will just bring fresh pain to his heart, which has barely healed over in these past few months.

So they'll stay, he thinks. Here they can start afresh; he can work with Burt, help him out at the shop. He can start working towards a future now, one where it all isn't set in stone, one where he can decide what he wants to do. Not what he's told to do. For the first time in years, he can be what he wants.

That sets his heart burning with fear. Suddenly he's seventeen and he has his whole life ahead of him.

* * *

He doesn't talk about Rachel that much any more, not because there isn't anything to say – because there is. There's so, _so_ much. But that's just the thing. If he starts, he's never going to stop. More and more questions will form, questions that he isn't sure whether he wants to know the answer to.

The most important one – obviously – is if she's ever still out there, if she survived long enough to see her liberation. And if so, what could possibly have happened to her now, all those hundreds of miles away from him with nothing. No job, no support, _nothing_ to help her gain back the life that's been stolen from her.

Sometimes he lets himself think that she's dead. It'd be easier that way – because if he knows for definite that she's alive, then there'll be nothing to hold back his constant need to find her, to cross the continent to find his Rachel. So he tells himself that she didn't make it, over and over. Tells other people, too. His mom always gives him this look, cautious and sad, while he only shakes his head. Rachel'd said so herself; if she'd go to one of those camps, she wouldn't last.

But no matter what he tries to delude his mind with, his heart fights back. It's insistent that she's out there... _somewhere_. Where? He doesn't know.

Even if she was alive, he dejectedly admits to himself, he wouldn't even know where to start in finding her. He's just a kid, he doesn't have any money to travel, and with Europe solely focused on resurrecting the cities destroyed by the war, he doesn't think there's going to be many people wanting to help him find one Jewish girl.

Those thoughts weigh heavily on his mind one morning as he eats breakfast with Kurt and his mom. Burt's already left for work, and soon Finn will go to join him, hopefully with an elevated mood.

Carole notices his gloomy expression, the frequent and wistful sighs. As always, she doesn't have to question them, because he can see that she knows the reason. When Kurt takes a trip to the bathroom, she places herself in his seat and lowers her hand to Finn's. "Sweetheart," she begins, "you're going to worry yourself sick. This isn't healthy."

He gives her a dark look at that, "it's not my fault. I just – I can't stop thinking about her."

"It's been months," she explains, as though he didn't already know that.

"And I still feel the way I did ever since we got home and everything was..." He trails off, lowering his chin to his balled up fist with a look of defiance, "I'm always going to feel like this."

She observes him sadly, pursing her lips together. "It's okay, Finn. You – you lost someone you really cared about. All of them. We both did." Carole twists in her seat, staring at anywhere but Finn, "they lived with us for over year, and they were... they were really wonderful people, each one of them." Finn feels himself nod in agreement, his chin wobbling. "I still feel responsible for what happened, for leaving them while we were at Burt's." Her gaze drops to the floor, "it's like when your father died."

He suddenly freezes then, head snapping upwards, "mom -"

"I kept asking myself, 'what if this has happened' or 'I could have made a difference'..." She sighs, "b-but in the end... I think..." Carole lifts her hand, rushing to wipe the stray tears, "I know that it wouldn't have changed anything. I have to tell myself that these things happen for a reason – because I can't accept that they just... _do_ happen."

Finn understands her all too much, his head bobbing sadly, especially upon seeing his mother so upset. He doesn't think twice about leaning forward and wrapping his long arms around the woman in a sweet hug. She smiles then, a small act, but leans against him.

"I just really miss her," he chokes out, his voice raspy.

"I know," she says simply, "I know."

In the silence, only her sniffling can be heard, and he only hugs her tighter.

That is, until Carole turns to him once again, eyes sparkling as they lay upon him. She reaches up, tenderly cupping his chin, "despite everything that's happened, all we've lost – I'm so thankful that I never lost you."

The past few years flash by in a matter of seconds, all the forces trying to steal son from mother replaying in Finn's mind. When it ceases, he finds his tears betraying him again, burning at his eyes. "I love you mom. I know I don't say it a lot, but I do."

She kisses his forehead, smiling contently. For a few moments, he can return it.

* * *

"You want to go to _America_?" Burt questions incredulously, staring with wide eyes at the boy.

Finn, from where he's sat, lifts his eyes to the shocked man, then back to Kurt. He clears his throat, keeping his composure even under the hard stare of his father, "dad, there's nothing here for me. I love being with the family but no one is open minded here, nobody takes me seriously."

"Yes we do," he answers back.

"You just humor me. I have ideas, I have dreams, and can you blame me for wanting to act on them?"

"When you want to move alone to another continent, yes I can," he bites back.

Kurt rolls his eyes, "I'm nineteen, I'm not a child anymore." Burt doesn't waver, not that Finn expects him too. He can be pretty hard headed. "And it's not just me going, it's a group of us, all of whom you've met and trust.

"Like who?" he probes curiously.

"Well, Sam."

Burt barks out a laugh, "_Sam_? You expect me to trust you with _him_? He not exactly the smartest kid, son."

"Not just Sam," he huffs, "Quinn wants to go, and Brittany. Even Artie's considering it."

"Look. I don't feel comfortable with this. Not with you being so far away with no one that I really know." He looks apologetic, but remains firm in his opinion, much to the disappointment of Kurt. Finn, who'd been just a spectator for the past couple of minutes, nervously sits forward. His head spins, questioning whether he really wants to do this, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it may be what he needs. Somewhere fresh, with people his age. With more opportunity than just working for Burt for the rest of his life.

Feeling two pairs of eyes on him, he shifts uncomfortably, and it takes him a few seconds to find his voice. "What about if I went with him?"

* * *

His mom is resistant, naturally. He hadn't expected anything else.

Days of her downright refusal turn into a willing to listen to his explanations. And 'absolutely not' becomes 'we've really got to think about this, Finn' but after almost two weeks of daily insistence, of Finn sure that this is good for him, she reluctantly agrees.

* * *

The journey is going to be long, no one doubts that. After weeks of saving every last bit of money he's earned, it's weird for it to all be used. He feels awkward and out of place as he steps onto the coach after Kurt. To be honest, he hasn't felt in place for months, not since he last saw Rachel. Maybe this is some foolish attempt to look for a home that he fears is lost, but it's too late to back out now. His mom would be ecstatic to see him returned home. She'd cried and cried as they'd readied to leave, her eyes silently begging him not to go.

But he has gone.

And now he feels sick to his stomach.

They're in _Toulouse_ when the coach stops, allowing them a quick break. He's thankful, stretching out his stiff, long legs and freeing himself of the conversation for a few moments. The solitude is nice, it's welcome, and he takes it as a chance to admire the city, breathing in the cold air.

"._.. hired more jews – you should see them. Pathetic little things..._" Finn's ears prick up when he hears that, eyes zoning in on the two men talking jut a few feet away from him. It's an natural instinct; his blood boils in a matter of nanoseconds, fists clenching together. "_No wonder he wanted to be rid of them. He had the right idea if you ask -_"

"What did you just say?" He doesn't realize that he's spoken until he hears his own voice echoing around his head, tone filled with disgust at their words.

The chubby, red faced man sneers toward him, "mind your own business, boy."

More tensely, he asks, "no, I'm not just going to let you get away with saying poisonous things like that."

Suddenly they turn their attention to him fully, squaring up to the eighteen year old. Finn stands his ground, mouth clenching in anger. "Poisonous. Who do you think you are, you little wretch?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," he seethes, "but you shouldn't be saying things like tha -"

"I'll say whatever the hell I want," he growls, just in time for Kurt to intersect, throwing Finn an 'are you crazy look?'

"I'm sorry for interrupting. Come on Finn, let's get back to the coach."

He shrugs off his hands, "not now, Kurt."

"Listen to your friend," the other, taller and slender, says darkly, "he's clearly got a brain on him, unlike you. Nothing but hot air between those ears."

Finn seethes, but not at that. He'll take that about himself, but when it comes to insulting Jews he just won't have it. And by the look on Kurt's face, that's exactly what he's thinking, too. Kurt tries to pull him away again, with a surprising amount of strength. Finn relents.

That is, until he hears laughter from the two men. He tenses, not sure if it's him or Kurt saying 'let it go'.

He does. He _tries_ to.

But moments later he hears words to the same effect as before mutter under the man's breath, words filled with hate and detestation. And Finn loses it.

In one swift move, he dives out of Kurt's grasp and toward them, throwing the first punch. His fist screams out in pain at the contact, yet there's no time to recover when suddenly they're both on him, lashing out just as he had. All he hears are Kurt's screams before he succumbs to blackness.

* * *

"What were you _thinking_?"

He hangs his head.

"Do you realize how stupid that was, Finn?"

It drops even lower.

"You just started fighting with two strangers and now what? You've got a sprained wrist and have spent the night in hospital with a concussion." Kurt continues to pace the floor. "Not only that, but dad and Carole are worried sick about you and are insisting that we go home immediately."

Finn gives a groan of frustration then, closing his eyes, "I don't wanna go back."

For a moment, Kurt seems sympathetic, dropping himself to the thin mattress of the bed beside his step-brother. "What happened, Finn?"

"I – it was stupid, I know," he says firstly, trying to lessen the guilt. It doesn't work. "But they were saying things about Jews... things that aren't true and I just – I lost it, Kurt. I've never been so angry before." Just thinking about it sends a surge of rage through his entire body, all his nerve endings on fire.

There's understanding on Kurt's face, but then it fades. "You can't just go around... _attacking_ random people in the street because of what they say."

"They hit me back," he defends himself lamely.

"You initiated it, when you should have just ignored them."

He gives him an incredulous look, "how am I just supposed to ignore something like that?"

Finn hates the way his face twists into a grave expression. Kurt's voice is scarily low as he comments, "that's what we used to have to do all the time, back home. You didn't fight back then."

"Yeah," he scoffs, "because that's a quick way to get myself killed." A sticky silence falls between them, and he hastily adds, "I guess I was just sick of staying silent about my feelings." Kurt doesn't respond now, no shouting, no comment. He rests a hand gently to Finn's shoulder, allowing a moment of comfort between the two. With a large sigh, chest heaving outwards, Finn looks up at the ceiling idly. "So mom and Burt really want us home?"

There's nothing but sadness and regret in his tone. "We didn't even make it out of the country and one of us got hurt. What do you think?"

He curses to himself, falling back against the stack of cushions. Finn spends the next few hours wishing for one luck would fall his way.

* * *

Hardly any words are exchanged on the way back to their parents. He apologizes to Kurt, over and over, but it clearly isn't going to heal the damage he's done and so he remains silent, mulling over his own actions remorsefully. At the same time he frets over the reaction he'll get from his mom, who'll no doubt hover over him even though the worst of his injuries is the wrist. His black eye doesn't even hurt that much any more.

As they enter the house, the radio is playing in the background, providing the only source of noise. "Dad? Carole?"

Finn finds himself staring around at his surroundings, scrutinizing everything. It's just like they'd left it, yet somehow _different_.

His hold of his bags weakens, until they fall to the floor there in the hallway, and he follows Kurt quickly into the living room. When they find it empty, they share a look. Finn takes long strides toward the kitchen, moving so quickly into it that he almost bumps face first into Burt. Rather than a greeting he's immediately met with a stern look, the man's eyes glancing down to the cast on his wrist.

"We need to talk, Finn."

"I know," he sighs. He'd been expecting that ever since he'd learned they were going home. He sadly watches the exchange between Kurt and Burt, suddenly wanting nothing more than a soft hug from his own mother. His desire must be obvious because Burt clears his throat in order to catch his attention.

"Go into the garden," he says softly now, the tone of disappointment gone. Finn stares to him curiously, especially when the tiniest of smiles sneaks onto Burt's lips. He steps outside, eyes squinting against the bright sunlight, but an even brighter smile grows upon hearing his mom's voice. After the trying experience over the past couple of days, he just feels like a little boy again, wanting to be with his mom.

He follows her voice, eyes adjusting to the light just in time to spot her sat at the patio table. Only, she's not alone. Facing away from him are two women, their faces hidden from sight. But in an instant his heart beats out like a drum, throat running dry. Because one of them... he'd recognize anywhere without a seconds hesitation. And he stops walking. He just – he _can't_ move.

His mom stops talking when she sees him, eyes glued to her son, who is frozen in shock. Even more so as the tiny figure twists in the white seat to reveal her face. And it's her, it's _Rachel_. The sunlight shines over her like a halo, shining brilliantly in her eyes.

Finn opens his mouth, begging himself to speak, but the words won't come. She's already up, her slow walk turning into a sprint to close the space between them. "Finn," she cries, practically diving into his arms. It jolts him into movement, the boy cradling her against his chest; his good hand rises to run through her hair, and that's shorter now, and she looks like she's put on a healthy amount of weight, but god, she's still just the right size to fit snugly against him – so he can rest his chin comfortably atop her head as he breathes in her scent.

He squeezes her soft body. She's here and she's real and she's _okay._

"_Rachel_," he whispers in disbelief, choking on his own words.

She tugs herself back, tears filling those eyes that he's dreamed about, and she gives him a smile that makes his heart melt into a puddle on the floor. Finn reaches up, his calloused fingers caressing the soft skin of her cheek, admiring her as though he would a beautiful sunset. Her attention is dragged away by the cast on his wrist. "Finn, what did you do?" she asks in dismay, lifting it up to inspect it.

He laughs then, feeling delirious with joy, "You're here."

Rachel nods, her hands clasping around his ever so gently. He doesn't know how – he's half convinced that this is all a dream – but the overwhelming happiness has him leaning down to place a longing kiss to her lips. It's almost as though they haven't been separated for months, and they're not stood in plain few of his family, because when his hands move to slide around her waist he can only think about Rachel.

She sighs against his lips, which taste just like he remembers, before reluctantly tugging herself away from him. "I-I missed you," she starts, full of tears.

As the shock settles in, and the cloud of surprise washes away, he gathers himself and finally takes a real look at her. She's _his_ Rachel, but she's older, her appearance more worn. She's tired, just like in his dreams. His heart aches at that, because he can only imagine what she's been through, and the worst part is that he doesn't want to imagine it at all – he doesn't want to think about it for a second.

"What – how did you get here?" He strokes his fingers through her short hair, "how did you find me?"

She drags in a deep breath, a course of emotions running across her face. "I don't know where to start," she whispers, "w-we've been looking for so long."

"_We_?"

"Santana and I," she confirms, peering back to the woman watching with an arched eyebrow. She's clearly foreign, with her dark hair and tan skin. Her eyes are intent on the pair, watching with interest, but it makes Finn feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

"And she is?"

Rachel smiles, "I've been living with her since... we left the..." She falls silent, clamping her mouth closed. His chest clenches, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "She's been so good to me."

"She's sort of staring at me."

"Oh, she does that," Rachel gives a small smile, "can we... go somewhere more private?"

He nods dumbly. "Yes, of course." He reaches for her hand, tugging her away from prying eyes. There's nothing but the sound of the birds in the trees as they walk slowly away from the house and further to solitude. Finn continues to stare at her as though she's a phantom, his fingers squeezing hers to reassure him that's she's not going anywhere.

The sweetest laugh escapes her lips, "stop doing that."

"What?"

"Looking at me like that."

He pulls her close to him, "I'm sorry, I just – I can't quite believe that you're here. Rachel... I thought..." His throat closes up, the words not wanting to come out.

As she understands, the mood drops. "It was the worst day of my life Finn, when they came..." Tears grow in her voice, "and I – the worst part wasn't knowing that I was going to that... that awful place." She brings hand to her mouth, trying to keep control of her speech. Only it doesn't work, the words cracking under the pressure of her tears, "it was knowing that I wouldn't see you again."

The second the tears start up again, he pulls her to his chest, just like he always had done, and holds her until they subside. "I'm here," he whispers, "we're together again."

"I thought -" The fresh tears leave her silent again.

"Hey, shhhh, it's alright."

She melts into his embrace, sniffling every so often.

They stay like that for longer than he realizes, both cherishing the moment they never thought would come. He has so many questions, _too_ many, but he doesn't want to overload her. He wants her to tell him in her own time.

But she continues to sob into his chest, tears of relief – of her pain. He holds her as close as he possibly can, their two bodies moulding together.

Eventually, she sighs. Staring out at the sky finally brings a smile to her face. "It's beautiful," she whispers, treasuring the moment.

"It's late," he says, "and you must be tired."

She lifts a hand to silence him, knowing what he's implying. "I'm not ready to sleep, not yet. I've been looking for you.. for so long. I just – I want to remember this moment."

He returns her smile then, kissing her softly. He's sure that this is a dream, that his subconscious is just playing cruel tricks on him, because there's no way that Rachel would just show up at his house, no way she'd be able to find him.

But when he wakes up the next morning and she's still there, he repeats the same shocked reaction, only this time recovering faster. He promises himself that he won't lose her again, not to anyone. And he gives a small smile when she echoes the sentiment, still teary eyed from the previous day.

Finn watches her as she moves about his room, looking for new clothes to wear, and he's in awe of every movement, staring fondly at the girl. Occasionally, she'll glance up, her eyes meeting his. And it's nice. No, it's wonderful. Yet surreal. But at the moment he focuses on the first two, at the same time trying not to let his hundreds of questions fill his mind

They'd spoken more before they'd gone to bed, where he'd discovered that she'd been taken to some concentration camp in Poland, separated from Noah and her father. That's where she'd met Santana, where she'd been taken under the older's girls wing and kept safe. Even after the liberation of the camp, Santana had kept her by her side, even offering to help her find Finn.

"And you're here now," he'd said to her, eyes taking in her face softly, "so what's going to happen?"

"I'm staying with you, Finn."

"What about your family?"

That'd been a sore subject, and she'd refused to speak about it at all. He didn't push, especially when he'd seen the tears brimming in her eyes.

After a beat, she'd peered up at him, "you're my family, Finn. You're my everything." She'd moved to wrap her arms around him, "and I'm finally home."

* * *

**Well, I really hope that you've enjoyed this fic. And that I haven't made any stupid historical mistakes. Blame google if so :P**

**Please review :)**


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